


Eternal Sunshine of the South Side Mind

by azuresky18, MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Gallavich, Gallavich Endgame, Gay Sex, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-21 04:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 96,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azuresky18/pseuds/azuresky18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Post-S9: Mickey is about to be released from prison to join Ian in their new life, but an unexpected accident causes their lives to undergo a major setback. As Ian is left to retrace the steps of eight years of their relationship and rekindle the fire that blazed their trail to the present, he must take every measure to ensure Mickey falls in love with him all over again.Canon-compliant through S9; canon divergent afterwards with nods to S10.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative work between MarzgaPerez and azuresky18, the result of many back-and-forth messages, exchanges of ideas and late-night comprehensive discussions about all aspects of Gallavich.

It was after 3 a.m. when the buzzing from the phone interrupted his dream. Ian couldn’t recall the exact details of the dream, just that he and Mickey were in the prison yard, the sun was shining above them, and they were at peace, even in that God-forsaken place they’d called home for an entire year. 

But the voice on the other end of the call jolted Ian into a reality he wasn’t prepared to face. 

“Is this Ian Gallagher?” an unfamiliar woman said.

He rolled over, pulling himself up in the bed, which used to be Fiona’s. He was living in his sister’s old room, soon to be his and Mickey’s, while he waited for his boyfriend to be released. Ian had been let out early for good behavior, and Mickey still had at least a few more months left in his negotiated sentence before he could join him to pursue the life they’d always dreamed of, but was always just out of reach.

“Yeah. Who’s this?” Ian asked, half-awake and confused by the strange call in the middle of the night.

“Mr. Gallagher, I’m calling from St. Mary’s Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for one Mikhailo Milkovich. Not sure if I’m pronouncing that correctly,” the unknown caller said.

The redhead bolted upright, hearing the words “hospital,” “emergency” and especially “Mikhailo.” Suddenly, the room was spinning. Ian figured he was still dreaming, and he needed to wake himself up.

“What happened? Where’s Mickey?”

“Mr. Milkovich is here at St. Mary’s. There’s been an accident. He’s sedated right now, but we need to -”

The woman’s voice continued, but it faded into the background, overpowered by the pounding noise in Ian’s head. This was not a dream. This was a nightmare.

“Mickey’s...hurt?” he managed. “C-can I see him?”

“Certainly,” replied the voice. “I’ve contacted his next of kin as well. He has a brother listed, Iggy Milkovich and a sister, Mandy Milkovich. I need to know your relation to the patient.”

“Oh, um…” _ Fuck, this was complicated. How best to reply to avoid being denied visitation? _“I’m his...husband.”

“Husband? He’s listed as ‘single’ in our records.”

“Well, his fiancé.” _ Another lie. _ They’d discussed marriage before. Hell, they’d discussed every topic imaginable with nothing but time on their hands at Beckman, but hadn’t come to any particular conclusion on the matter. 

“Very well. I’m Dr. Peterson. You can ask for me once you arrive. Come to the nurse’s station on the fifth floor.”

Ian nodded into the phone. “But Mickey’s okay?”

“We think so, but it would be a very good thing if you came in to see him.”

“You _ think _so? Can you please tell me what happened?” Ian was biting back a sob. 

“To make a long story short: your fiancé sustained a head injury. He most likely slipped and fell in the showers and was out for a few hours. His CT shows a moderate hematoma, but based on his progress thus far, he should recover fully in a couple of days.”

“Thank fuck,” breathed Ian, not really caring about his language for the time being.

“I understand Mr. Milkovich was to be released in several months. I’m not certain whether they’ll send him back now, not after this.”

“Right, okay.” Ian had stopped listening, his mind going to worst-case scenarios. _ What if he’s not okay? What if he takes a turn for the worse? Focus. Focus. I need to get to Mickey. _

He was on his feet, pulling on a pair of jeans and jamming his feet into his tennis shoes. “I’m on my way now. T-thank you.”

Ian opted for an Uber, not feeling steady enough to drive, and he didn’t want to wake up Lip or Debbie. He wrote a note to his siblings explaining where he’d gone, his hand unsteady as he scribbled the words onto the page. It was like his hand was moving independently of both his brain and the rest of his body as he wrote, _ Heading to St. Mary’s Hospital. Got an emergency call about Mickey. On my way to see him now. _

Ian paced back and forth in the Gallagher living room, still trying to process what he’d heard on the phone. He thought back to the last time he and Mickey had been in this house. Had four years really passed since then? Even though they were far from young and innocent, trauma having aged them beyond their years, nothing they’d experienced by that point felt as final for their future as a couple than Mickey’s incarceration and subsequent flight to Mexico.

_ I had it all, and lost it_, Ian thought. _ I almost lost Mickey because of my desire to pursue something so fleeting as a false sense of stability. I was lucky to get him back after what I did to him. He still cared enough to come back to me. And now, he fucking fell in the showers, so close to the finish line? My whole life feels like one cosmic error after another. _

Ian grabbed his coat and stepped outside into the chilly Chicago night, figuring the Uber would be here any minute. He shivered in spite of his fall jacket, the autumn breeze barely a whisper, but Ian didn’t think it had anything to do with the fact that he was cold.

The Uber pulled up in front of the house, and Ian stepped in. He greeted the driver, more on autopilot than anything else.

“St. Mary’s Hospital?” the guy, a middle-aged man with a kind smile, asked.

Ian nodded. “Yeah.”

His voice sounded hollow, a mixture of sleep and the dead feeling in his chest. It dawned on him that he’d left without eating or brushing his teeth. He turned to look out the window, his stomach growling, and his thoughts turning to Mickey giving him shit about his morning breath, like he used to do when they’d wake up together in the cell they shared. _ Jesus, Gallagher, _ he’d say, _ get some fuckin’ mouthwash. Stat! _

They drove in silence, the driver presumably gauging the situation and figuring Ian wasn’t in any mood to talk, given where they were going. Once they pulled up to the emergency entrance, Ian quickly thanked him and got out.

Even though he had been here many times before when he used to bring people here as an EMT, the bright lights of the hospital lobby seemed especially jarring after being outside. Ian squinted for a moment before approaching the woman at the front desk.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Uhhh...yeah. I’m here to visit Mickey - I mean, Mikhailo - Milkovich. I got a call from Dr. Peterson. I’m his emergency contact and she told me something happened and he was brought to the ER.”

The woman, whose name tag read “Paula,” shifted in her seat behind her computer before clicking the mouse and typing something on the keyboard. “Could you spell the last name of the patient for me, please?”

“Yeah. M-I-L-K-O-V-I-C-H.”

Paula paused for a second. “Yes, he’s in room 513...are you family? We like to limit visitors to that ward to family members only.”

Ian hesitated. As far as he knew, Mickey never identified Ian as family in front of him. Sure, he came to visit him during his stint in the psych ward. But without knowing what his then-boyfriend told the people at the front desk, Ian had no way of knowing.

He took a deep breath before answering, going for broke and hoping his hesitation didn’t fuck anything up. “Yeah, I’m family. He’s my fiancé.”

“Very well,” she said, reaching into a drawer in her desk for a visitor’s pass. She quickly wrote Ian’s name on it before handing it to him. “Follow the hallway behind me, head left to the elevators, and get off on the fifth floor.”

“Thank you.”

Ian already knew where Mickey’s wing was, but didn’t bother to correct her. He passed a couple of hospital workers in scrubs, thinking back to the days when he helped save people’s lives before delivering them to the skilled hands of the doctors here: ones like this Dr. Peterson, who held Mickey’s life in her hands.

_ That was another lifetime ago_, Ian mused, an odd mixture of nostalgia and mourning for the life he’d pissed away filling him. It was the best career opportunity he’d had, and likely ever would have, given that he now had a record and was still waiting on his PO to get back to him with some new job possibilities.

_ I should have been happy. Too bad it was a lie, because the one thing I wanted but thought I’d lost forever is now here in this hospital. _

Ian shook his head as the elevator stopped and dinged, the doors opening a second later. He walked into the hallway and passed numbers 500 through 512 before pausing. There was an officer posted outside of the next hallway.

“Excuse me,” said Ian as he approached the guard. “I’m here to see Mickey Milkovich.” He showed the visitor’s pass to him.

The officer looked him up and down before glancing at something on a clipboard. “May I see some ID, please?”

Ian handed his license over. The man perused it before giving it back to him and nodding his approval.

As Ian approached the room more closely, he saw Mickey’s name written in black marker on the dry erase board below the number 513. He walked inside, hesitating because he wasn’t sure what he was going to find inside. He braced himself.

Mickey lay asleep, a bandage on his head, a neck brace cradling the base of his skull and the beginnings of a bruise starting to peek out around the bandage. He looked peaceful and relatively unscathed, despite the beeping of cardiac monitors and the IV in his arm. Ian approached the bed slowly. Mickey didn’t wake.

“Mickey,” Ian said softly - a whisper, not wanting to disturb him, knowing from plenty of experience his partner was a light sleeper, presumably from the many years of abuse, trauma and constantly having to look over his shoulder both in and out of prison. Ian preferred not to think about that fact, deciding it would be best to remain ignorant of things Mickey still hadn’t felt comfortable enough to share.

The sleeping brunet still didn’t stir. Ian figured they must have given him something strong to sedate him, given Mickey undoubtedly would have fought being handcuffed or strapped down to a bed. Ian didn’t want to think about that, either. All he wanted was to be with him again. He’d visited Mickey in between the time he’d been released and now, but it wasn’t the same, even though they’d been able to touch and hold hands in the open outdoor area, like when Fiona had come to see him, and later Lip. It wasn’t like being separated by glass.

A sick feeling came over Ian as the words he wished he’d never spoken, so long ago now, came back like a specter that stubbornly refused to be exorcised.

_ Yeah, Mickey. I'll wait. _

_ It was hard seeing you through that glass. _

Ian’s stomach clenched as he forced himself back to the present and the new obstacle in their way. The slow beeping of the monitors distracted him as he looked down at the man, the only one he’d ever loved and who’d kill a motherfucker if he looked at either of them wrong, who now seemed so vulnerable. He almost looked like the teenager Ian fell for nearly a decade ago, but Ian knew better. Too much had happened to regain that naïveté of youth.

Just then, Ian’s phone buzzed. He looked down and saw an unfamiliar number pop up with a text message. He frowned at the device before opening the message. He had two messages, both from unknown senders.

_ Ian - it’s Mandy, got a new number. I’m on my way over to see Mickey now. _

_ Yo asswipe. It’s Iggy. Heard Mickey got popped and omw over 2 see him. Mandy got a call from the hospital. Gave me ur number._

Ian had to smile in spite of himself, thinking about how Iggy had come to visit Mickey a few times at Beckman, and Mandy had been there to see them both. Ian treasured each of her visits. She had left escorting behind for a career in hospitality, working as a hotel manager with her apartment outside the city limits.

He continued to sit quietly, watching the sleeping Milkovich, his fingers resting on top of Mickey’s. Light had already begun to stream in through the blinds of the lone window. He pulled his phone out. 6:45 a.m., and two more text messages he hadn’t bothered to check earlier.

As if like clockwork, Iggy and Mandy appeared in the doorway. Mandy extended her arms for a hug, which Ian returned. After they broke apart, Ian and Iggy locked eyes before nodding to one another. Without knowing where they stood and knowing the general Milkovich reaction to any physical affection, Ian didn’t want to push it.

“Hey, how is he?” said Mandy in a hushed tone.

“Still asleep,” Ian answered. “I didn’t know what kind of a state he’d be in when I got here, although the doctor who called me had said he was stable and doing okay. I don’t know what they gave him, but he seems dead to the world. Nobody has come in yet to talk to me or let me know anything more about what’s been going on.”

Mandy leaned over to look. “Well, knowing hospitals and how they move at a snail’s pace, I’m not surprised they haven’t come in yet. They’re probably busy, and maybe he’s not that much of an emergency case. Let’s hope.”

Ian pondered that. It made sense, although his experience as an EMT didn’t produce any recollections that he could immediately cite as concrete evidence.

“Let’s just wait until the doctor comes in,” Iggy said, seemingly confident, although his signature smirk was absent from his face. “Maybe I can bribe that officer dude to get the doc to come in here sooner. Think I could do it?”

Mandy jabbed him in the ribs. “The fuck, Iggy? He’s right outside and can probably hear you.”

Iggy shrugged and extended a middle finger in the direction of the open door.

They waited in silence until a tall woman with blond hair knocked on the door frame. “Ian Gallagher?” she asked.

“I’m Ian,” he said as he stood. “And this is Mickey’s brother Iggy and his sister Mandy.”

“Hi, I’m Dr. Jacqueline Peterson. I can give you an update on his condition. _ Mickey_, not Mikhailo, right?” She waited for a nod from Ian before continuing. “Let’s step into the lounge area down the hall so that we can talk. It’s deserted this early in the morning.”

The four of them walked down the hall before sitting down. Dr. Peterson offered to grab them some coffee, but they were more concerned about an update.

“What’s going on with him?” Ian asked.

“Well, he fell and hit his head. As I mentioned, we’ve got him in stable condition, and his hematoma should clear up. We’ll do another CT later today to confirm this, and nothing should significantly impair his functioning. We’ll know more once he comes around. And we’ll keep him here for a few days to make sure everything still seems okay.”

“When will he wake up?”

“They had to give him a sedative, because he was putting up one hell of a struggle the first time he woke up and the nurses were trying to examine him. Scared the whole floor half to death with all of the yelling. After that, they were able to stabilize him and bring him in for testing. But that should be wearing off soon.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Mandy said, rolling her eyes.

“He’s a Milkovich. It’s in our fuckin’ blood,” Iggy sniggered. “I’m proud of my little bro. Won’t stand for shit like gettin' tied down.”

Ian ignored the side-eye Dr. Peterson gave Iggy. “Thank you,” he told her.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be checking in early this afternoon to see how he’s doing. Here’s my number if you have any concerns,” she said before leaving to check on another patient.

Ian breathed a sigh of relief as he slumped further into the chair. “Thank fuck. He’s going to be okay.”

“‘Course he is,” Iggy said. “Let’s go in and wait for him to wake up.”

The three of them walked back down the hall and checked in with the officer guarding the room. Mandy and Iggy entered first. They had just stepped inside when Mickey groaned softly and stirred. Ian felt a rush of emotion, and his heart seemed to lighten in his chest.

“The fuck…?” Mickey muttered, his voice groggy. He focused on his siblings standing in front of Ian, blocking his view of the redhead. “Mandy? Iggy? Where the fuck am I?”

“In the hospital. You fell and hit your head in the showers at Beckman, but you’re going to be okay,” Mandy said.

“Beckman? You mean the can? The fuck you talkin' about? Not old enough,” Mickey said. “I mean, I know I’m fucked for life and all, but -” He looked up and saw half of Ian's face peeking out from behind Iggy. "Who...who else did you bring with you?"

Mickey's eyes focused on Ian, looking confused. Maybe he was still whacked out on sedatives, but it almost seemed like Mickey didn't recognize him. Worried, Ian quickly decided it was his imagination. Mickey was really woozy, high on the drugs, had taken a harder blow to the head than they'd all thought, or any combination thereof.

"Mickey?" Mandy said worriedly. "It's Ian. The doctor called him a couple of hours ago, and he came right over to see you." 

"Who?" Mickey repeated. He leaned forward as far as he could, his expression turning to one of cautious recognition._"Gallagher?! _You mean that scrawny-ass lookin', freckle-faced motherfucker? Puberty must have hit you overnight." He squinted as Ian, Mandy and Iggy gaped at each other like fish out of water. Ian felt like a block of lead had formed in his chest.

Just then, Mickey sat up in the bed. He turned to his sister, his bewildered expression slowly but surely turning into one of anger. "Wait a second...wait one fuckin’ second! You mean the asshole who tried to ruin you? Mandy, what the fuck?! Why is this piece of shit here after what he did to you?" He yanked on the bed rail. “_Ian Gallagher! _I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

Ian stared in horror as Mickey's expression turned into a hateful look he’d hadn’t seen in almost a decade and had never wanted to see again, his beautiful blue eyes narrowed even more and features twisted in rage. The visage reminded him again of why so many came to fear Mickey Milkovich, but Ian was at a loss for why he was on the receiving end of it now.

The officer outside came rushing in. “What’s going on in here!?” he barked.

Mickey shouted at him. “Tell him to get the fuck outta here!”

The guard started towards Iggy. 

“No, not the tall, dumbass-lookin' one. The other one. Firecrotch!”

“Sir, you heard him. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the officer said to Ian.

Ian, too stunned to do much else, backed away wordlessly through the door. Tears stinging his eyes, he walked back to the lounge, sat down and stared at the wall.

_ Mickey doesn’t want to see me? I should have been there when he fell - I could have gotten him help sooner. He’s mad at me, and he’s not going to be okay after all. His head trauma did something to him. Fuck! _

A minute later, Mandy rushed to Ian’s side. “Ian...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no idea that was going to happen. Iggy’s still in there trying to calm him down. I don’t know what he was talking about. You didn’t do anything to me, and he’s not making any sense.”

“Obviously,” Ian said dejectedly, wiping more tears from his eyes. “But...did he say he’s ‘not old enough’ when you mentioned ‘Beckman?’ What the...oh, no. It can’t be.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Ian not daring to say more, before Iggy’s head popped in. “Yo, we got a big fuckin’ problem. Nurse came into the room after you guys left. Asked Mick who the president is, where he was, and what the date is.”

As the rest of Iggy’s lanky frame appeared in the doorway, his dejected posture seemed to say it all. Ian’s face fell even further as he managed to choke out, “What did he say?” The words felt like acid on his tongue. Somehow, Ian knew what Iggy was going to say.

“He said Obama, some fuckin’ hospital he didn’t know the name of, and December 3, 2011.”

Ian buried his head in his hands and sobbed as Mandy put a comforting arm around him.

* * *

After a frantic call to Dr. Peterson, who promised to return as soon as possible, Mandy went to fetch coffee and pastries for the trio. Ian only picked at his food but managed to get the burning hot coffee down. He was hoping something would jolt him out of his current stupor, knowing full well that nothing short of Mickey regaining his memory would do the trick. 

Ian had read about amnesia before, but this had come without a warning and left Ian worried Mickey had sustained other brain damage. _It just wasn’t fucking fair…_

Maybe some air would do him good, but what he really needed was to go back in time and do something idiotic that would have kept him locked up with Mickey. They’d protected each other and had each other’s backs, so whose bright idea was it for Ian to be a model prisoner and get released early, while his boyfriend had to do extra time? 

And sure, they’d had some bad days in that miserable, cramped cell, days of complete and utter monotony. They’d fucked until they were too tired to fuck anymore, became too bored to exchange any words, or one of them would pick a fight about how shitty the other had been over whatever-the-fuck came to mind from their tumultuous past. But they were together, finally, and committed to seeing where the road would take them. Ian certainly wasn’t expecting this fucking detour, and he was one hundred percent certain Mickey hadn’t, either. 

About fifteen minutes after contacting her, Dr. Peterson returned to the lounge with a weary expression and took a seat at their table. “Well…” she began, “I stopped by to examine Mickey, and we had a conversation about how he’s feeling. I wasn’t expecting something like this based on his injury but, as they say, the mind works in mysterious ways.” 

She paused, long enough for Ian to fill in the blanks. “Amnesia,” he blurted out. “Mickey has amnesia. We’re living in a goddamn soap opera now.”

Mandy placed a hand on his arm to try to steady him. 

“Yes, I believe he has a form of retrograde amnesia. It’s not like what you see on television, per se. Mickey knows who he is, and he apparently knows all of you - but for him, the last eight or nine years never happened. We’ll need to determine a course of action to reintroduce him to his current life.”

“So, there’s a chance he’ll get everything back?” asked Mandy hopefully, keeping her gaze on Ian, who seemed to be in a state of denial. Iggy remained quiet, still trying to process the situation. 

“This could be as temporary as a few hours, or it could last for days or weeks. I know it’s a shock to all of you, but the worst thing you can do is force anything on Mickey right now. It needs to be a gradual process, getting him comfortable with his surroundings. He mentioned an address where he’s currently residing. Is there any way for him to revisit that address in the present day?”

Mandy and Iggy exchanged glances before Mandy answered cautiously. “Probably. I’m assuming he gave you the address where we all grew up. Our father still owns the house, but he’s been recently incarcerated.”

Ian snapped to attention. This was news to him, so it must have been fairly recent. Mickey either didn’t know or hadn’t thought to tell him. Under these circumstances, it was cause to celebrate, as far as Ian was concerned. _ Fuck Terry. _

“That’s promising,” replied Dr. Peterson, checking her pager and rising up from her chair. “I’ll be working directly with the warden to have Mickey discharged into your care. I’m sure there will be some paperwork and check-ins to be arranged. He’ll need a few more days here, and I’ll pull together some information for how we can work together to get Mickey back to the way he was before.”

_ The way he was before..._Ian felt the tears welling in his eyes again, but still managed to look up through blurred vision and offer the doctor a nod of gratitude. There were words on the tip of his tongue, questions about how he was supposed to refrain from running to Mickey right this second and showing him, with just one tender kiss, how Ian was the love of his life, not the 15-year-old kid from back in the day whose ass he wanted to destroy. He wanted to know why this was happening and, despite already knowing the answer, he wanted to talk about treatments for Mickey: medications, shock therapy, whatever it would take to bring Mickey back to him. 

Dr. Peterson leaned down to speak to Ian softly. “This sort of thing is hardest on the significant others, especially when the memory loss supersedes the beginning of the relationship. Be patient and kind. I’ve seen a handful of these cases over my career, and the memory always returns, especially when the love is real. Please, don’t despair.”

And then it occurred to Ian: if Mickey was only remembering back to the time when he wanted to pummel the redhead for allegedly sleeping with Mandy, they would be starting their relationship from ground zero.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch!” Mickey said, teeth gritted and still struggling against the restraint securing his hand to the bed rail.

Mandy had followed Ian out of the room, and Ian looked upset. _ Good! The fucker should be upset because he’s going to get what’s coming to him, _ Mickey thought. But a little voice was wondering just how Gallagher had gotten so goddamn _ hot _ overnight. Ian was younger than he was, and the last time he’d seen the redhead, he’d appeared to be about six inches shorter and 60 pounds skinnier. The guy he’d just kicked out of his room looked like a pro football player by comparison. He couldn’t say he hated it - quite the opposite, actually.

_ Wait...why am I thinking he’s hot? I’m not thinking straight since my head hurts like a bitch. Fuck, Mandy said I fell and hit it, so it must’ve knocked something else loose in my noggin. _

“Mickey! Dude, it’s fine. Mandy’s got it under control. He didn’t do nothin' to her,” Iggy said. “They’ve been friends for years and stayed in touch after this prison shit.”

“Huh?” Mickey said. “The fuck?”

“Mick! Chill! Everything is fine. Mandy has no beef with Ian. What the fuck you even talkin' about?” Iggy asked.

“Jamie and Joey didn’t tell you?”

“They told me jack shit. I haven’t talked to either of them in a long-ass time.”

“He tried to fuck Mandy!”

“Dude…” Iggy started. “Why you bringin' that up now? It was a _ longer-_ass time ago. Before we found out Ian - you know - fucks dudes? You’re talkin’ outta your ass.”

“The fuck?” Mickey asked. “But I don’t see how - can you or someone else just tell me what is goin' on and how I got here? Why am I in the hospital?”

“You were at Beckman, about to get released. Gallagher was your cellie and, from what Mandy told me, you guys fucked like bunny rabbits on Cialis the whole time. Anyway, I guess you fell and smacked your head.”

“No! You -” Mickey turned on his brother. “You think that’s funny? The fuck you tryin' to do, get me beat up by the Carson brothers? Biggest gang of fag bashers in the South Side unless you count Dad. I ain’t never fucked dudes and I’m gonna kill you myself if you say I did.”

Iggy smirked, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “How hard did you hit your head? The whole South Side knows you’re gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.”

Mickey’s eyes got as big as dinner plates and his eyebrows traveled halfway up his forehead but, as always, Iggy didn’t know when to shut up. “That reminds me: remember when we huffed that shit from those Reddi-Wip cans?” The older Milkovich laughed, ignoring the glare that would’ve petrified lesser men.

“What the _fuck_? Someone said I’m a queer? Who’s the dead-ass motherfucker who said that? Tell me his name and I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

“_YOU_, stupid!” Iggy shot back. “_YOU _ said it to me and like 50 other people at once!”

Mickey’s face was red by now. “You -”

Just then, a nurse walked in. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. I’m Miranda,” she said in a kind voice, seemingly ignoring the raised voices and obscenities. “How are you feeling?”

“Just peachy,” Mickey grumbled back. “My head hurts. I wanna get out of here.”

“How’s your pain? On a scale of 1-10?”

“About a 6-and-a-half.”

“Now, you are Mik-” she said, flipping through her paperwork and stumbling on the name.

He cast her a baleful look. “Don’t bother tryin'. It’s just Mickey.”

“Okay, Mickey. I’m just going to check a couple of things and then I’ll be on my way.” She took his temperature and blood pressure before fiddling with something in his IV bag. Mickey fidgeted but didn’t say anything else to her.

“Yo,” Iggy said to Miranda. She looked slightly taken aback by his salutation, but turned to him. “Somethin' real weird just happened when my sister and me came in here. My brother didn’t seem to know his fiancé, and he freaked when he saw him walk in, and then he started bringin' up shit that happened years ago like it just went down yesterday. We figured he’s just real loopy on all the drugs you guys pumped into him.”

“I don’t have a _ fiancé _ who’s a _ him_. I swear to God I’m gonna gut you like a fish, Iggy.”

Miranda paused. “Okay, then…” she hesitated. “Let’s see. Mickey, could you please answer a couple of questions for me?”

“Shoot.”

“Who’s the president of the United States, where are you and what is today’s date?”

“Umm…” Mickey paused to think for a minute. “The president is fuckin’ Obama. I don’t know what the name of this hospital is, but I’m obviously in one. The date? Think it’s the 3rd…? Yeah. It’s December 3, 2011.”

Iggy looked like you could knock him over with a feather, his usually dopey expression on his face disappearing and his eyes wide.

“Oh, boy...” Miranda said. “I’m just...going to get one of the doctors in here. Let me finish up with you and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Great,” Mickey told her.

After she left, Iggy finally spoke. “Dude…you really think it’s December 2011, or were you just bullshittin' to fuck with her? Tell me you were.”

“Why would I bullshit that? If I did, then they’d have to keep me here longer.”

Iggy stared at him. “Holy fuck. This shit is seriously wack, bro. I’ll be right back.”

The elder Milkovich turned away and headed down the hall. Mickey huffed, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, and picked at his hospital gown and the itchy neck brace he was wearing. He hoped the food here wasn’t going to be bad. It couldn’t be worse than what he got during his stint in juvie.

He frowned for a second, considering something he overlooked before; he’d been more concerned about his hand being cuffed to the bed. His eyes fell on his right forearm, staring at the tattoo with the letters “Lado Sur Siempre” written under the black design.

_The fuck is this shit? Who drew this on me? Must be Sharpie, because I wouldn’t have gotten this ugly-ass thing inked on me no matter how wasted I was. Why is it not in fucking English, but I still know what it says?  
_

It took effort and luck, but Mickey leaned down and managed to spit onto the fingers of his cuffed left hand, cross his right arm over his body without pulling the IV out, and use his fingertips to rub at the mark. It didn’t budge. _ What the...? _

He cursed and inspected his hands, including the left one cuffed to the bed, seeing the familiar knuckle tattoos but noticing more faded scars on the right one than he recognized. Dreading finding anything else he couldn’t explain, he rolled up the sleeves of his hospital gown and checked both of his biceps. Thankfully, nothing else was there that shouldn’t have been.

_ If I find somebody’s name tattooed on my ass, I’m going to put my fist through a wall. _

After a few more minutes, a tall woman with dark blond hair walked in. “Hi, Mickey. I’m Dr. Peterson,” she greeted him. “Your family told me they’re really worried about you. Let’s talk for a minute to see how you’re really doing.”

“Did they, now?” said Mickey sarcastically. “Well, go ahead if you wanna hear my life story.”

She sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Okay, you told Miranda your head hurts. Does anything else hurt? And what is the last thing you can remember doing?”

Frowning in concentration, Mickey thought for a moment. ”Bein' at home and havin' to get ready to go on a-” He caught himself before he said _ drug run_. “It was an errand with my old man and brothers. Somethin' we do when I’m not in school.”

“In school?” the doctor asked him. “Are you in college, or where do you go?”

“College?” Mickey snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m still in high school. Or at least for now. Well, I technically am _ supposed _ to be a junior, but I’m basically a freshman now since I haven’t passed a single class.”

“Oh?” said Dr. Peterson. “Okay, then. The people who were here with you...do you know who they all were? Don’t worry. You can tell me.”

“My brother and sister, Iggy and Mandy. And then this kid I thought was goin' after my sister, but I guess now he ain’t, since he’s a fruit. Gallagher’s his name. Ian Gallagher. He goes to school with my sister and I guess they’re cool now.”

“Let’s focus on Ian. Tell me about him. How well do you know him from school?”

“Not real well,” Mickey answered. “Like I said, I thought he tried to mess with my sister, but apparently he bangs dudes. I don’t get that shit.” Mickey paused. “What else? He lives in my neighborhood and his folks have a whole mess of kids. So long as he don’t bother my sister or - God forbid, hit on me - I won’t fuck with him.”

Dr. Peterson tutted and wrote something down in her notes. “You don’t think you’ve had any other prior dealings with Ian in any way?”

“No,” Mickey said. He frowned. “You sayin' you think I wanna bang him? Cuz I don’t.”

The doctor sighed. “I’m just checking to make sure you’re in good hands and there haven’t been any problems since the officer outside in the hall mentioned there was a little...argument...in here where he had to get involved.”

She wrote something else down in her notes before looking at Mickey again. “Since I know you want to get out of here, I’ll start working on some paperwork so you can leave and be discharged into your family’s care. Your siblings said they can take you home, but we have to keep you here for a few more days just to make sure everything’s okay.”

“A few more days?” Mickey repeated. He shifted in the bed. “That’s great.”

Dr. Peterson got up from her seat and looked at Mickey again. He wasn’t good at showing emotions, but he was excellent at reading them in others. He thought she seemed either sad or pitying, which annoyed him.

“Hey,” added Mickey. “What happens if I gotta take a piss? I’m connected to all this shit, and I’m still cuffed to this goddamn bed.”

“You can press your call button anytime,” Dr. Peterson said. “I have to go talk to your siblings to get things started on getting you ready to be sent home.”

Mickey grumbled but settled back down in the bed and located the button to summon the nurse. Bored, he took notice of his blue hospital wristband. Since he couldn’t use his left hand, he wiggled his right arm to move the wristband into a position that allowed him to see the text. He read:

_ Milkovich, Mikhailo A. _

_ Dr. Jacqueline Peterson _

_ St. Mary’s Hospital _

_ DOB: 08-10-1994 _

_ Age: 25 _

_ Sex: M _

_ Admitted: 11-10-2019 _

“What the hell?” Mickey said out loud. “Damn. Whatever computer typed all this out is real fucked up, cuz I’m sure as hell not that old. And it sure as fuck ain’t 2019.”

He waited for a while longer, not sure how much more time had passed, but his bladder was starting to feel full. When Miranda and another nurse finally came to his room, Mickey let them know immediately, “Took you long enough. I have to take a piss, but I can’t with all this stuff attached to me. Oh, and something else.” He held up his wrist. “Just cuz you oughta know, this thing is wrong. The date of admission is way off on this, and so is my age.”

The other nurse, whose badge read “Stacy,” looked at the wristband and then back at Miranda. She gave Mickey a funny look. “Ummm...that date is correct. Everything on the wristband is correct,” she said.

“Bullshit,” Mickey said. “It’s 2011, and I’m only 17. It’s wrong. You guys should fix it.”

The nurses exchanged another glance before asking the officer in the hallway to come in and uncuff Mickey. They then unhooked him from the IV pole and helped him out of the bed. Unsteadily, he made his way toward the bathroom. He was oddly cold and thought, _ This hospital gown is drafty. Never worn one before, so they must all be like that. _

He opened the door to the bathroom, closed it and made his way to the toilet. Mickey reached down to unzip himself, only to brush against the material of the hospital gown. It was open and he wasn’t wearing pants or boxers.

“Hey - what the fuck! You fuckin’ saw everything!” came the shout from the bathroom. He could have sworn he heard the nurses chuckling. “It’s not funny!”

Mickey grumbled and cursed in their direction as he relieved himself. After flushing the toilet, he leaned over the sink as the bulb in the bathroom cast light on the mirror. As he saw his reflection, his eyes widened in shock.

His dark hair was long and ragged, hanging past his ears. His face was stubbly and unshaven, not to mention the fact that the bandage he was wearing didn’t quite cover the bruise on his head, but he barely noticed. Mickey’s blue eyes were the same as they always were, but there were more lines around them. His nose looked like it had been broken a few more times and healed poorly. He looked far older than 17: still like a young man, but a tired one whose face revealed he’d seen much more than his fair share of hardship in such a short life.

_ “What the fuck?” _ he shouted. “I - fuckin’ help me! What the _ HELL_?” The two nurses opened the bathroom door and Mickey turned to them, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“What is going on?” Mickey demanded. “Why does this mirror make me look old as fuck?” He grabbed his hair. “What kinda experiments have you people been doing on me?!”

Before they could answer, both Iggy and Mandy came rushing in. 

“Mickey,” said Mandy. She turned to the nurses. “Thank you, but I think we have him from here. I’m so sorry about our brother. We can get him back into bed.”

As the nurses left, Mickey leaned into Mandy’s shoulder as she helped him back into the hospital bed. “I want my clothes back. I didn’t realize I’m naked under this goddamn thing. And tell me what the hell’s going on! Why is everything fucked?!”

Once Mandy and Iggy had taken their seats next to him, Mandy hesitated before speaking.

“Mickey: this is going to be tough and I’m sorry, but things are going to be different for you once you get out of this place.” She grabbed onto his hand and held it when he tried to pull away. “More time has passed than you realize right now. We’re going to take you home and help you. Ian will be staying with us. Just go along with it and please try to trust us. We will try to explain it, but it’s really hard for us, too.”

* * *

Three days later, Mickey was discharged from the hospital. The warden from Beckman showed up at his bedside, along with Mandy and Iggy, where he gave Mickey his release papers from the prison. He was bewildered and refused to sign them until Mandy told him couldn’t leave the hospital unless the papers were in order, so he eventually did it on autopilot.

While Iggy left to pull up to the pickup ramp in his jalopy, Mandy handed Mickey his boxers and pants from behind the privacy curtain so he could change into them. Mickey grabbed his shirt from her and took off the hospital gown. As he prepared to put the shirt on, he frowned when he saw something black on his chest. He took a closer look.

A second later, a bellow of, “_OH MY FUCKIN' GOD!!! MANDY!!!” _tore through the fifth floor of the hospital, bringing four nurses and the posted officer running in.

Mandy apologized profusely and calmed her brother down by telling him Iggy tattooed the name while they were drunk, shortly after the “Ian Gallagher is a Dead Man” spray paint incident. Hospital staff helped him into a wheelchair and onto the elevator. They headed down to where Iggy was idling in his beaten-up car, with Ian in the passenger seat. Mickey wondered what crazy party he went to where Iggy had access to probably-unsanitary tattooing equipment, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. There were bigger things on his mind.

They drove home with Mandy next to Mickey in the back seat. He tried not to make it obvious, but he was scared because he hadn’t been told why things around him were different. None of the answers people were giving him made sense, least of all the fact that they dodged all of his questions about the funhouse mirror in the hospital bathroom.

To make it worse, people in the hospital, and even Mandy and Iggy, whispered around him like he was dying. He didn’t understand any of it or why they kept wiggling out of his questions. All he wanted to do after days of the incessant poking, prodding and tests in the hospital was to go to sleep in his own bed and take a piss without a damn audience.

Once they arrived at the Milkovich house, Iggy and Mandy helped Mickey out while Ian held the back door of the car open. As he stepped inside the house, Mickey looked around. The hovel was familiar, but what he immediately noticed was how much _ neater _the house was than he’d ever seen it. It was like other people had moved in and gone on a cleaning spree, because nobody in his family ever bothered. He figured somebody finally called DCFS on their father after hearing him throw shit and curse at his kids over the years, so one of his brothers got roped into doing it.

“You’re, uh, home, Mickey. Welcome back.” 

Mickey turned to Mandy and saw she had tears in her eyes. He turned to Ian next. He seemed stiff, like he was trying to avoid looking at him. Iggy opened his mouth to talk.

“Do you wanna tell him? Cuz he’s gonna find out soon enough. No sense in tryin' to do more to bullshit him cuz if there’s anything Mick hates, it’s a goddamn liar.”

“Lying? About what? You’re lying? The fuck you all tryin' to hide from me? I ask and nobody seems to be able to gimme a straight fuckin’ answer!”

Ian sighed. “Mickey...you’ve lost a huge chunk of your memories. Like, years of them. Mandy and Iggy both have good jobs and you were in Beckman. Actual adult jail, not juvie. Those papers you had to sign at the hospital were prison release papers. The house looks different because you’ve been gone for awhile and are just getting back.”

“Okay…?” Mickey asked. “You sayin’ the reason why I don’t have a clue how I got to the hospital is cuz _years _have passed? The fuck? I’m only 17!”

“Mickey, you _ aren’t _ 17 anymore. A lot of time haspassed and a lot of shit hashappened, but you won’t have any memory of it until it comes back,” Mandy said. “I really wish we could tell you more, but we don’t know what’s going on, either. If your memories are of yourself at that age, then there's what we’ll work with until the rest comes back.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“You have amnesia,” Ian told him. “You don’t remember the last eight years.”

“The last _ eight years_?!” Mickey shouted. “There’s no fuckin’ way there are _ eight years _ of my life I don’t remember. Was I in a coma or something that whole time?”

“No, you weren’t in a coma.”

“Then I don’t believe you! ‘Amnesia’ my ass. That’s soap opera shit and none of it is real. What sort of dumbass do you take me for, Gallagher? Gimme a break!”

“It’s the truth. I’m sorry, Mick, and I wish I could do more for you. More than you can possibly know.” Mickey thought he saw tears in Ian’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure why this would make him choked up. _He wasn’t the one who went to sleep and woke up in crazy town. _

Mickey shook his head at Ian in disgust. “You’re fuckin’ with me, aren’t you? This some stupid revenge shit after I tried to give you a beatdown? He didn’t wait for a reply and turned to Mandy. “Let me see if my sister is gonna say shit that actually makes sense. Mandy, you know where Jamie, Joey and Colin are? Are they all out on a run with Dad or something? When will they be back?”

“Dad’s in jail for another assault charge,” Mandy said. “Again. He isn’t getting out. Jamie, Joey and Colin still come around from time to time from what Iggy told me, but I’m not around that much. I have a job. Outside of the South Side since I’m not in school anymore. I went on leave this week and explained to them I had a family emergency.”

“Go figure,” Mickey scoffed, deciding to play along for the moment. “Found a way to leave the South Side before me, and you didn’t even finish high school. Maybe the rest of us actually have a chance.” He sighed and flopped down on the couch. “I mean...figure I gotta try and get a job and all, right? What was I doing before the hospital? I was at Beckman, probably for dealing, right?”

The trio glanced back and forth, looking like they were trying very hard to pick their next words carefully. “You could say that,” Ian said. “You did..._ something _ having to do with drugs before you went in, but that’s not all. Those papers you signed got you out early for medical reasons. You’re going to have a PO, and Dr. Peterson will explain your situation to them.”

“Ha!” said Mickey darkly. “What did I tell you? Knew I would be fucked for life. Was it at least something worth it to get thrown in big boy jail? Hope I didn’t get caught with a nickel bag of weed. Hope it was something good like horse, crack or E.”

“You learned from the best, right?” Iggy chortled. “Anyway, you ain’t gonna believe this, but I got out of the game. For good. I’m in construction work and it pays really well. One of these days I might actually get a decent car now that I’ve saved up enough.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said. “Iggy went straight! And Gallagher, you’re all official and shit...like ROTC? All kinds of drive and ambition, the good shit I never had. You’re gonna end up fightin' in sand dunes to end up as a hero, like GI Joe from the South Side? Wow. Figure you and Lip will really go places. I mean, you got way more potential than I got. Must be workin' out hard, since you’ve gotten so jacked since I last saw you. Just keep your crazy red noggin clear. Don’t do nothin' stupid like blow up a building and go all Unabomber.”

Ian took a deep, ragged breath before turning and storming out of the living room without saying a word. Mandy looked pissed while Iggy just stared awkwardly at the door Ian had slammed, which was the one to _ Mickey’s _bedroom for some weird reason. “Hey, Gallagher! Get outta there and don’t touch my shit!” Mickey called out.

There was no answer and the door stayed shut.

Mandy’s tone of voice shocked her brother. It was so menacing, it made Mickey stare at her with a look of utter confusion. “_Shut the fuck up _ and just leave him be!”

“Mandy? What the fuck?”

For a second, his sister looked like she wanted to rip him a new asshole, but the next words to come out of her mouth were surprisingly calmer.

“Mickey...when I said a lot of shit has gone on, a lot of it was just _ really _ bad. While the best things are worth it, other things that happened to you in particular were...not good, and you’re probably happier not knowing yet.”

Mickey opened his mouth to argue, but Mandy shushed him. “It’ll hit you like a ton of bricks when it comes back. This is going to sound fucked-up, but it’s almost a favor that you don’t know. Dr. Peterson said we should gradually re-introduce you to the life you had, because if we do too much it might not be a good thing.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say, but he could tell Mandy wasn’t fucking around.

She sighed. “I mean...I know you aren’t going to do it on purpose, but you probably will end up saying stuff some of us might - but definitely Ian for sure - find hurtful. It’s actually not because you’re trying to be an asshole, and you won’t understand why they’re upset with you for saying it. We know you can’t help it, but still…”

“I mean, everyone thinks I’m an asshole already. How is this any different?”

“Mickey. This is different. Way fucking different. There are things you honestly can’t even comprehend yet. It sucks that you don’t have your memories, but I want _ Ian _ to be the one who helps you get them all back. It’s gotta be him, not me or Iggy. Trust me.”

“Why?” Mickey said. “Cuz I got plastered and had shit-for-brains here carve Gallagher’s name into my chest? No idea how the fuck I’m gonna explain that shit. Guess I gotta get it covered up as soon as I’m old enough. Anybody got a hot tip on some fake IDs?”

Iggy and Mandy exchanged a glance but opted not to say more.

“Although...I gotta ask. Why do I have this tattoo on my arm? It don’t look like something I’d be able to get in somebody’s bedroom.”

“_Mickey_,” Mandy hissed. “Shut the fuck up and just listen to me for once. I want you to be as nice to Ian as you can be - for you, at least - because he’s going through some rough shit right now. Don’t just blurt out random things to him, and let him come to you.”

“Oh?” Mickey said. “Why’s that?”

Mandy took a deep breath. “Because he’s Ian fucking Gallagher, and you’re Mickey fucking Milkovich. Just watch what you say. _ I mean it_. If I know him, he’ll want to bring you over to his house to hang with him and his siblings. Just go with it. He probably also will take you around the neighborhood and show you a bunch of stuff that seems random. Let him. Please.”

“All right,” Mickey said. “Not sure how you got such a lady boner for Gallagher all of a sudden after we thought he tried to fuck with you. But since you’re my pain-in-the-ass bitch of a sister, guess I’ll do what you say. I mean, it’s not like I gotta marry the kid.”

Mandy shook her head and skulked off after Ian, leaving Iggy to look at Mickey stupidly and the younger brother to wonder what he said wrong. It had been a long day already, and all Mickey wanted to do was grab some shut-eye in _ his _fucking bed. How long was he going to have to wait for Gallagher to quit his pussy shit and come out of his room?

There was one thing he did know, though: as weird and moody as Ian was, he could stand being around him if it meant being able to check out that ass. _ I mean, it is real nice and all. Don’t mean I’m gay if I just look at it. _


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next couple of days, Ian alternated Mickey duty at the Milkovich house with Mandy and Iggy. Since Mandy was barely around because she had to tend to the hotel and Iggy had odd hours with different construction gigs, most of the watch fell on Ian since he hadn’t found a job yet.

As much as he longed for any time he could spend with Mickey, he was disheartened by how stiff and awkward it was. To add insult to injury, he slept on the couch like Frank instead of cuddling with Mickey in his warm bed and waking up to hot morning sex. Then there were the inadvertently hurtful comments Mickey would make out of ignorance. They ate Ian alive, but he couldn’t even yell at his boyfriend for saying them since he didn’t know better.

Mickey’s “Unabomber” comment, and his occasional reminders of how Ian fucked up his own life, felt like salt being rubbed in all of the old wounds of the mistakes and regrets he carried around for the last six years. Still, that paled in comparison to his fear that the Mickey who once went through so much suffering and hardship to stay by Ian’s side when he didn’t deserve it, including turning himself in to prison to be with him and keep him safe, could be gone forever in favor of this grotesque parody.

It seemed like time was dragging and this stress continuing for months on end, rather than a week. It was gut-wrenchingly painful. Ian tried to play it cool, not daring to do more aside from platonic interaction for fear of another outburst. Mickey was as cold to Ian as he’d ever been back in the day, and it felt like a knife in his heart.

Worse than the things Mickey said or did was the overwhelming desire Ian had to be close to him, physically. He had to keep fighting the urge to touch Mickey: to caress his skin, massage his shoulders and smooth away the tension between them. It always worked before, even when they were at each other’s throats in their tiny-ass prison cell, although the tenderness between them was something Mickey only accepted in more recent years. It wasn’t until around the time he’d come out to Terry and everyone else at the Alibi that Mickey would let his guard down and relax into the affection Ian showered upon him. 

That had taken some time, trauma, loss and some courage from Mickey. Maybe Ian pushed too hard for him to come out, and he wondered if it somehow damaged Mickey later on or even pushed things too fast in their relationship. Everything was so intense at the time. It wasn’t long after that Ian began to show signs of bipolar disorder, creating a new whirlwind of highs and lows in their lives and their relationship. 

The simplest times between them had been those quick, hurried fucks at the Kash and Grab, the dugouts at the ballfield, and under the high school bleachers. Hell, what Ian wouldn’t give to have Mickey like that now: jeans pulled down around his knees, Ian’s hand pressing into the small of his back, just underneath the hem of his shirt, touching Mickey’s skin without him fully understanding what it meant to Ian. Fuck the frills; he just wanted to be close to Mickey again. But for now, he’d have to settle for whatever crumbs Mickey was willing to throw his way: a questioning glance, a raised eyebrow. Ian’s heart would flutter when he swore he caught Mickey checking him out. It was probably wishful thinking, but he’d take what he could get.

* * *

The Saturday following Mickey’s discharge from the hospital, Ian and the rest of the Gallaghers still remaining in Chicago, minus Frank, began the delicate discussion of how to handle Mickey’s first visit to the Gallagher house without freaking him out. At the moment, they were all gathered on or around the living room couch at their house, Ian with a look of stern determination on his face. Lip and Debbie were seated on either side of him, ready to offer advice. Liam sat on the floor next to him. Franny was busy with a coloring book and crayons.

“I think we should call Fiona and see what she has to say,” Debbie suggested. “Maybe she’ll have ideas.” She leaned over to Franny, wet her finger and tried to wipe a stain off of the front of her little girl’s shirt, to no avail.

Lip seemed skeptical, his quizzical expression enhanced by the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She never liked Mickey to begin with, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to bug her. You know, with her being happy in Florida and all?” He took a puff from his smoke and sat back. 

“Yeah, but -” Ian shifted on the couch. “You guys told me how she reacted when I sent that letter home, where I told you Mickey was locked up with me. You said Fiona was fine with it. And she made a comment about Mickey washing undies and wishing I could take a picture, the time she came to visit me before she booked it out of Chicago.”

“I guess so,” conceded Lip. “But let’s exhaust all of our other options and talk it out amongst ourselves before we start bothering her. As far as she knows, you’re out but Mickey is still in prison. She’d just worry, and what the fuck do you think she can really do from Florida?” 

“Fly back home in a flustered mess and pull a Fiona?” Liam offered.

“Nah, she’s got her own life, and this is really our circus, our monkeys. This doesn’t involve her at all.” Lip took another drag of his cigarette. “Now, let’s talk about how we are supposed to act around him. What does he actually remember?”

“Nothing since that time he came after me for ‘trying to fuck Mandy’,” Ian said. “I don’t know if he remembers attacking you when you tried to take the beating from him and his brothers for me. For now, what we’ve done is act like he’s still 17, since that’s what he thinks. We gave up on trying to explain what really happened since he didn’t believe us and just started yelling, so this is what we’re stuck with. The doctor said she doesn’t think it’d be wise to push any bad reminders of his past onto him yet. Act casual as you can and avoid anything unpleasant.”

“Avoid anything unpleasant? Do you realize what house you’re in?” Lip scoffed. “Or what family this is? Dude, it’ll be a bitch and a half trying to walk on eggshells around him, and we have zero idea how he’s going to react to anybody in this house. And you want us to treat him like he’s in high school? If you don’t want to bring up newer stuff, I guess I can pretend I’m taking his SATs and he’s coming here to talk about it, or subtly try to work in something newer than that into the conversation without being too obvious about it.”

“I guess that’s okay, as long as you’re _ really _subtle,” Ian conceded. “Dr. Peterson said not to try and force anything on him too soon.”

“I can do my best since he always seemed calmer around me back in the day,” Debbie offered. “But maybe he’ll respond better if he does see Lip first, assuming he doesn’t remember that incident. He didn’t know me when you were in high school. Lip, didn’t you two know each other from being in the same grade?” 

“We didn’t run in the same circles exactly, but you’re right.”

Liam chimed in. “I know you’ve told me about Mickey, but I was too little to really know him the last time he was here. Maybe I can play some video games with him. Or board games.”

Ian smiled at his youngest brother for the thoughtful suggestion but paused to sigh at the complexity of the situation in front of them. “All right. I figure we can slowly - _slowly_ \- get him used to being around all of us. I really fucking hope this won’t be permanent, since the doctor seemed to be optimistic and said she has seen a few cases like this and those didn’t end up lasting forever.” 

“Okay,” Debbie said. “We’ll follow your lead, Ian. This is Mickey we’re talking about. I know how you much love him, and he did so much for you when we first found out you were sick. It’s time to pay it forward and help him now.”

* * *

Ian walked back into the Milkovich house to find Mickey taking pizza logs out of the oven. Iggy was in his room with the door closed. _ At least pizza logs are something we still have in common and can bond over, _Ian thought miserably. He despaired over how, as much as he’d liked the thrill of being with Mickey when they were teens, he hadn’t then known the love and affection the thuggish older boy was capable of. Having Mickey’s devotion yanked from under him after having it for so long hurt like hell.

“Hey, Mickey,” Ian said. “Mind if I eat a couple of those before we head over to my house? Lip’s got your SAT stuff for you and a few questions.” Ian cringed as the words left his mouth. He hated the idea of having to lie to Mickey like this and act like the last eight years never happened at all, but he didn’t see any other way to get him over to the Gallagher house.

“Just don’t eat all of them, bitch. And I can’t stay too long, cuz I gotta go on a run with Dad and Jamie. Overdue and all. Got a new shipment they gotta move. Yo, Iggy! Pizza logs are ready!”

Iggy came out of his room and stubbed out what was left of the cigarette he was smoking into a nearby ashtray before sitting down at the table. Ian and Iggy ate silently as Mickey rambled on about the drug run he fully thought he was going to go on with Terry and Jamie. The eldest brothers had scattered and were either in jail or dropping in when they pleased, since they still had keys. They hadn’t been by recently, so Ian, Iggy and Mickey had the house to themselves while Mandy was at work.

For the last week, Mandy had been splitting her free time between her apartment and here, possibly feeling like it was safe to come back now that Terry was gone and Kenyatta was even more long gone. _ That still left Lip, _Ian thought, deciding they’d cross that bridge later. He had yet to tell her about Lip’s unborn baby.

Ian hadn’t planned on ever setting foot in the Milkovich house again, but at least with Terry gone it was bearable. So many life-altering moments occurred here - some of his favorite moments, actually - like hanging out with Mandy when they were kids. She was the first friend he’d come out to, and she’d never failed him since. 

He chuckled to himself, thinking about not only the first time he and Mickey fucked but those numerous other times they’d done it with Mandy in the next room, completely oblivious. 

“The fuck you laughing about, Gallagher?” Mickey interrupted his train of thought with a nasty scowl. 

“Just...old times, you know?” 

“Nah, I don’t know. Remember? Hit my head?” Mickey held up his middle finger at Ian. 

_ Well, I’m going to find a way to make you remember_, thought Ian. _ Fortunately, my schedule is clear for a while. _

As he finished eating, Mickey let out a loud burp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hoodie sleeve. Ian cringed, recalling how terrible younger Mickey’s table manners were. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” declared Mickey. “It’ll be nice to see the shithole your family lives in. Hopefully it’s less of a shithole than this.” 

“Uh - Mick, when you’re done at the Gallaghers,’ there’s no run,” Iggy piped up. “Dad’s back in jail, and we haven’t seen Jamie in a long-ass time.” Mickey seemed to digest this information and didn’t say anything further.

Ian sighed, said goodbye to Iggy and followed Mickey out the front door. Mickey whistled something Ian couldn’t identify as they continued in silence. He then pulled out a pack of cigarettes he’d bummed off of Iggy, took one out and lit it. As he stared at the back of Mickey’s head and the cloud of smoke he exhaled, Ian longed to come up behind him and embrace him, share the cigarette and stare into the blue eyes he loved, but he knew those would be out of the question if he didn’t want to get punched. 

As they walked up the steps of the Gallagher house, Mickey surveyed the exterior for a few minutes before shrugging. “Guess it’s not half bad, huh, Gallagher?” he said. “Let’s see what your clown car family thinks of me.” He discarded his cigarette butt and pushed the unlocked door open, not bothering to wait for Ian.

They walked in to find both Lip and Debbie sitting with Franny, poring over a completed picture she’d torn out of the coloring book. Lip was drinking a can of Pepsi and smoking, and Liam was in front of the TV playing _ Halo Wars 2_. Mickey opened his mouth as if to yell something to Lip, but he noticed Liam’s video game instead and leaned over the arm of the couch.

“What you playing?” Mickey asked, a confused expression on his face. He looked closer. “It looks like _ Halo, _but goddamn have the graphics gotten real fuckin’ good for a 360 game. Guess I haven’t gotten around to playing the newer ones since lazy-ass Colin hasn’t found a way to lift ’em for us yet. Which one is this?” 

Liam paused the game and looked up at him. “It’s _ Halo Wars 2. _And you’re Mickey?” the boy said. “I’m Liam, Ian’s youngest brother.”

Mickey frowned. “The fuck is _ Halo Wars 2_? You adopted? Gallagher said nothin' about having a black brother.” 

Ian, who had just walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer, swore under his breath. Lip snickered from his seat at the table, while Debbie just looked at Mickey, aghast. 

“It’s a new one that came out a couple of years ago. And nope. People ask me a lot if was adopted. I just recently wanted to get back in touch with my black heritage,” Liam said, not missing a beat.

“Whatever. Fuck if I care. Dad’s the one who’s into white supremacy stuff, not me,” Mickey said. His attention turned to the Xbox One. "And I didn’t know they came out with a new Xbox. Gimme the controller and let me play this new _ Halo _ I haven’t heard of.” 

Ian opened his beer and sat with Debbie, Lip and Franny, relieved that Mickey found something to occupy his time for now. He tried fruitlessly to show more interest than he normally would have in Franny’s coloring book, hoping the video game would keep Mickey busy for now.

Also looking like there were many other places he would’ve rather been, Lip finished his cigarette before pulling up something on his phone. He gestured to Ian to look. The screen displayed an article about immigration from Mexico and Central America. “Look at this,” Lip said. “There’s more going on at the Mexican border. Like we needed that again.”

Ian punched Lip in the arm. This was the last thing they needed. _ Fuck you, Lip. Please let him be too distracted to care. He isn’t ready to talk about that shit yet.  
_

“Oh, yeah? My dad talks about how we need a ‘real’ president who won’t go easy on the Mexicans crossing the border,” Mickey chimed in. “Wants somebody who‘ll promise to send ‘em all back. All he does is bitch about Obama being too soft. Gets kinda old, actually.”

Lip snorted into his pop can and tried to cover his smirk as Ian shot him a look that could have stopped an elephant dead in its tracks. Debbie whispered, “Should we tell him?”

Mickey sighed and shifted in his seat on the couch as he kept playing his video game. “Then again, I can’t say I blame any of ‘em for wanting to come here. Who the fuck would ever wanna go to _ Mexico _and live there?”

Ian choked on his mouthful of beer, some of it coming out his nose. Coughing and sputtering, he ran to the sink to spit out the foaming liquid still in his mouth. Debbie ran to him and thumped him on the back. Thankfully, Mickey appeared to be none the wiser as he remained focused on the TV, cursing as his character was killed and he waited to respawn.

Eyes watering and still trying to catch his breath, Ian turned to Lip and rasped, “Mind if we _step_ _outside_ to talk?” His brother took one look at Ian’s face and didn’t argue, walking out still holding the Pepsi can. Ian fell back and slammed the door behind them as they exited. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ian punched Lip in the shoulder again, harder this time. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You totally did that on purpose after I specifically told you not to bring up anything from our past yet!” 

“You said it was okay if I subtly worked something into the conversation, so that’s what I did! Chill!” Lip sighed and lit the cigarette he’d had behind his ear, taking a long drag of it before offering it to Ian, who angrily snatched it and took a quick drag before giving it back. 

“Jesus Christ, Lip! You were about as subtle as Frank in a distillery. Next time, let me handle Mickey before you go off half-cocked!” Ian’s face was nearly as red as his hair. 

Admitting defeat, Lip turned to Ian guiltily. “Dude, I’m sorry. But I’m trying. I’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before. When _ you _were really bad, I was away at college and not in the thick of your manic episode. I’m sorry I wasn’t there then, and I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop you from getting sent to prison. But I’m trying to make up for it now. Cut me some slack for not knowing how to deal with Sergeant Slaughter in there, but I don’t want you to do it alone.”

Looking slightly less angry, Ian sighed. “Just let me do it. Please. I owe it to Mickey to help him through this, and this is my mess to fix, not yours. I’m going to take him back to his house because this was a terrible idea. The only way it could’ve been worse would be if Frank came in and started on one of his tirades.”

“Thank fuck for that. Just let me know if you need anything,” Lip sighed. He glanced woefully at his cigarette. “Dammit. And here I promised myself and Tami I’d try and quit before she has the baby. It figures.” 

“Hell, of the two of us, I’m the one who really needs a smoke,” Ian said. “But anyway; yeah, I’m going to eventually need your help. Just let me come to you next time. And you know what? You’ve got a kid on the way, so you really should be focusing on that instead.” Ian offered his brother a hug, which Lip gratefully accepted.

They sat in silence, Ian taking another swig of his beer while Lip continued to smoke his cigarette and nurse his nearly-empty pop can. It should have reminded Ian of simpler times, but this situation was anything but simple.

* * *

It took some coaxing to lure Mickey away from the video game. Liam had proven to be the most effective at appealing to his current likes and making him feel comfortable, which made sense - Liam was wise for his age and close to Mickey’s perceived age. 

Right after Ian and Lip finished their drinks and heart-to-heart, an idea occurred to Ian, one he thought to run past Mandy before trying it out. But there wouldn’t be time. 

An opportunity presented itself when Ian promised Mickey they could stop for some booze on the way back to his house. And what better place than the convenience store, formerly known as the Kash and Grab, to test the waters with places familiar to Mickey, places that had been important in their relationship? Ian couldn’t help himself. The sooner Mickey recalled who he was and what they had between them, the sooner they could enjoy the life they’d waited so long for. 

There was a caveat with this plan: the Kash and Grab had undergone a complete overhaul a few years back, after Linda sold it and left town. It was called something different now, something in Spanish. Ian hoped Mickey wouldn’t find it too confusing: at least, no more than most everything else seemingly out of the ordinary, primarily the fact that everyone had aged and he now had a red-headed sidekick. 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, man. Or actually do, but why are you over at my place so much?” he asked Ian while they walked along the sidewalk. He didn’t wait for a reply, though. “Your house ain’t too much of a shithole. Your family’s okay. I like Liam. Hell, even your dickhead brother’s not so bad, helping me out with my SATs, though he probably wants something. I swear to God, if that fucker tries anything with Mandy…”

“Chill the fuck out, Mick!”

_ Shit, _Ian had slipped up. He wasn’t supposed to be dishing it back to Mickey. 

“The fuck you say to me, bitch?”

Ian already anticipated the fist about to make contact with his face. He stopped it with his palm and forced Mickey to lower his hand, their eyes meeting briefly, long enough for Ian to realize there was still little to no recognition of their relationship in Mickey’s baby blues. But there was something different now that Ian was firing back. Was Mickey..._ impressed_?

“You heard me,” Ian snapped, still sounding harsher than he intended. “Chill out. No one is going to fuck with Mandy.” Well, that was only half true. If only Mickey knew he had preemptively kicked Lip’s ass, long before he’d actually treated Mandy like shit.

“Damn, Gallagher! Look who grew some balls? Guess I’ve been a good influence on you lately.”

“Guess so.”

They walked the rest of the way to the convenience store in silence, Ian relieved he had managed to avoid Mickey’s question about why he was over at his house. _ Because I fucking love you and I want to be with you all the goddamn time, even if you don’t know why or what the fuck we have between us. _

“What the -” Mickey stopped in his tracks. They were standing across the street from what used to be the Kash and Grab, and Ian had also been anticipating this reaction. “When did they change the name?” Mickey asked. 

“Uh, recently, I guess.” 

“So, do _ you _ still work there? What about that pussy who manages the place?” 

“You know that I used to work there?” Ian didn’t want to get his hopes up, but this had to be the start of something to help reconnect Mickey to their past. 

“Used to? What happened?”

“Lots of stuff. Kash left all of a sudden, for one.” Ian shrugged, waiting to see if Mickey knew anything else.

“If that asshole Kash ain’t workin' there, and neither are you, we won’t get the hookup,” he grumbled.

“Relax. I got this.” Ian started across the street, and much to his surprise, Mickey followed.

“You need me to be lookout?”

“No.” Ian had his hands in his pockets and stared back at Mickey. This was feeling familiar. 

“You got extra money to pay ‘em off?”

“No, I’ll just use my ID.” Right, this was reminding Ian of the bank, on their way to Mexico, when Mickey didn’t realize he was going to make a legal withdrawal instead of holding up the place.

“Fake ID - of course!” Now Mickey was satisfied. “Better go in separate from you since I’m under 21. Don’t want anyone thinkin' you’re distributing to a minor.”

“I think you’ll be fine. Come on.”

The bell above the door jingled as they walked inside. The woman at the counter greeted them with a “Buenas tardes,” and Mickey answered back, “Igualmente. ¿Cómo le va?”

“Muy bien. Gracias. ¿Y usted?” 

“Dos que tres,” replied Mickey as he proceeded to the back of the store, completely unphased by the fact that he had just communicated in an entirely different language than what his 17-year-old self would have been able to do. 

Ian smiled at the woman and tried to compose himself as he went to look for Mickey. He had been floored by Mickey’s fluency with the language when he’d landed at Beckman, though it shouldn’t have come as a shock since Mickey spent a good deal of time in Mexico. Ian actually found it very sexy, and on more than one occasion, encouraged Mickey to talk dirty to him in Spanish while they made love. 

But there wasn’t time to think about that now. Not exactly, though Ian did gesture for Mickey to come over to where he was standing. He was in front of the glass cases with the pop, and right behind the shelves - if you squinted - was one of their favorite hookup spots.

“What now, Gallagher?” he huffed. “Fuck the pop. We getting beer or liquor?”

“Whatever you want, but first...look in here.” Ian was grateful that when the store was remodeled, the layout of the original place hadn’t changed. “Bring back any memories?” 

Mickey humored him, peering into the glass and over the rows of the neatly arranged bottles. “I don’t see shit. Maybe a back room with some extra stock. Why?” 

“Oh, uh…” This was stupid. What was Ian doing, a fucking scavenger hunt? “No reason. I, uh, used to stock the shelves back there, is all.”

“That’s fuckin’ nifty...so...beer it is,” said Mickey, eyebrows raised and eyes rolling at whatever he thought Ian was trying to accomplish. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah, sure. Sure,” Ian replied, walking to the case on the far end of the case and grabbing a twelve pack.

Mickey started back towards the front of the store, acting like he was minding his own business and bidding the woman at the front an “Hasta luego” as he headed outside to wait for Ian and the beer. _ Subtle, Mick, real subtle. _

Ian made his purchase and walked over to where Mickey was now standing at the corner of the street, leaning against the post, brow furrowed and fingers rubbing his chin. He looked paler than usual and shaken. As soon as Ian noticed, he stopped and cast a worried look in the direction of the older man, wondering what happened to warrant this reaction. 

“Mickey? What is it?” Ian asked. As startling as this was, it was nothing compared to the next comment out of Mickey’s mouth - one Ian’s heart pounced on like the family of a soldier returning from war. 

“I got shot in that store, didn’t I?“


	4. Chapter 4

_ This what is lab rats must feel like, if they had any fucking feelings, _ which Mickey figured they did not. _ Fine, so I’m more like a goddamn monkey in a cage_, he decided, his every move being documented and monitored, mostly by someone who was more like a stranger to him. Somehow, everyone around him swore up and down: Ian Gallagher was someone he was supposed to care about. The fuck if he could figure out why.

_ We have to keep an eye on you. Constantly. Head injuries are no fucking joke. Doctor’s orders_, Mandy and Iggy claimed. _ Bullshit. _ Either he was off his rocker or everyone else was, like an episode of _ The Twilight Zone_. But it sure as hell seemed like the simpering but hot-ass redhead had made it his personal mission to rub Mickey’s face in it. The even weirder thing was how his siblings seemed to be way more complicit in Red’s plan than they ought to be.

_ Spend time with him, hang out with the guy, trust him, _ Mandy insisted. Jesus, there were better things he could be doing with his time than being led around the South Side like a middle-aged tourist with black socks pulled up to his knees. It wasn’t exactly fucking Disney World.

Not that Mickey minded the break from going to high school, or the expectation he was supposed to be there. Oh wait, he was _ allegedly _ 25 now, too old to walk those hallowed halls where he’d once been a fucking legend, taking what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and getting his start in the Milkovich family business. However, according to Iggy, there were no runs to make, no shakedowns of business owners in the neighborhood, no antics of any kind happening in the Milkovich household.

He was so bored that he agreed to go to Ian’s house, after he’d finished scarfing down his meal of pizza logs, under some stupid pretense about Lip taking his SATs. _The fuck did Mickey need to take them for, as if he was actually going to college?_ It was for kids with a real future. Maybe there’d be free weed in it for him.

"Guess it's not half bad, huh, Gallagher? Let's see what your clown car family thinks of me," Mickey said as he opened Ian’s front door. He soon figured it out. Being in the Gallagher house was awkward as fuck with Ian’s siblings staring at him. The only halfway decent one was the black kid, since he kept his damn trap shut and concentrated on his video game instead of eyeing Mickey like a carnival freak show midget.

The first thing he'd noticed when he came in was the weird-looking Xbox. He doubted any of them had the balls to lift any gaming consoles at all, much less this _ Futurama_-looking thing he’d never seen before in his life.

“What you playing?” Mickey piped up, confused. “It looks like _Halo, _but goddamn have the graphics gotten real fuckin’ good for a 360 game. Guess I haven’t gotten around to playing the newer ones since lazy-ass Colin hasn’t found a way to lift ’em for us yet. Which one is this?” 

The kid paused the game and responded, “It’s _Halo Wars 2. _And you’re Mickey? I’m Liam, Ian’s youngest brother.”

“The fuck is _Halo Wars 2_? You adopted?” Mickey asked. “Gallagher said nothin' about having a black brother.” He wondered what poor sucker Frank Gallagher must have scammed to adopt a kid.

“It’s a new one that came out a couple of years ago. And nope. People ask me a lot if was adopted. I just recently wanted to get back in touch with my black heritage.”

Mickey shrugged, still mildly stumped. “Whatever. Fuck if I care. Dad’s the one who’s into white supremacy stuff, not me. And I didn’t know they came out with a new Xbox. Gimme the controller and let me play this new _Halo_ I haven’t heard of.”  
  
That was weird, but not surprising. The Gallaghers were known for being resourceful with money and getting their hands on shit before everybody else. Besides, he didn’t mean to make Liam nervous, seeing as how he was the least obnoxious of the bunch - no offense to Ian’s little sis, the mouthy redhead with big jugs who seemed really nosy. She had her hands full with a kid, anyway. And then there was Lip, being as douchey as ever, trying to goad Mickey into talking about immigration shit and laughing at his responses. Fucker.

But Mickey knew there was a God, because Ian and Lip (with his hideous haircut) disappeared for a while, probably to have some stupid pussy heart-to-heart. Once Ian came back inside the house and suggested they buy booze from the corner store to ease up on Dr. Peterson’s alcohol restrictions, Mickey was ready to get the hell out of there.

It was kind of okay being alone with Ian, walking around the neighborhood, but he couldn’t help but notice that Ian looked like he wanted to jump his bones every fucking five minutes. _ Is this kid really cruising for the beatdown he didn’t get last time? _He had to say something.

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, man. Or actually do, but why are you over at my place so much? Your house ain’t too much of a shithole. Your family’s okay. I like Liam. Hell, even your dickhead brother’s not so bad, helping me out with my SATs, though he probably wants something. I swear to God, if that fucker tries anything with Mandy…”

To Mickey’s utter confusion, Ian snapped back, “Chill the fuck out, Mick!”

"The fuck you say to me, bitch?” he growled back. He started to throw a punch, but Gallagher was way quicker than he expected and managed to block it. He glared, blue eyes staring into emerald green. _ Damn, _ Mickey thought. _ Guess all the working out Red has been doing has managed to pay off. Okay, that’s hot...and his eyes ain’t half bad-looking for a dude’s._

“You heard me. Chill out. No one is going to fuck with Mandy."

Mickey scoffed, briefly wondering what _ else _ Ian’s new physique allowed him to do more efficiently, but he recovered quickly. “Damn, Gallagher! Look who grew some balls? Guess I’ve been a good influence on you lately.”

“Guess so.”

For now at least, as they kept walking, the big doofus seemed more relaxed, in his element and seemed to have something on his mind other than bending Mickey over. Or hell, he wasn’t even sure what the guy was into - maybe he bottomed, or whatever the fuck gay dudes called taking it up the ass. _ Wait a minute: why do I know what that means? _

Mickey could barely believe his eyes when he saw the changes to the Kash and Grab, another indicator that maybe he _ had _lost some time, as everyone was claiming. Ian didn’t work there anymore, nor did the terrorist-looking motherfucker, which meant no more illegal booze or free snacks. Those were perks Mickey enjoyed as he’d terrorize the piss out of Kash whenever he got hungry for a Snickers bar. The guy had no balls and Mickey wondered if his wife wiped his ass for him, too. He asked Ian several questions, one after the other, about the name and where the previous owners went. He really wasn't satisfied with the answers he got, but they would have to do for now. He just wanted booze, already.

As they walked in, Mickey greeted the chick behind the counter and went straight to the back of the store to check out the beer selection. That was when Gallagher started dicking around, telling him to look at the storage area behind the drinks for some stupid reason. _The hell? What the fuck did Mickey care about the store layout? And why was Ian wasting his time by pointing it out? Was he casing the joint, or was he just really into really shitty architecture?_

“What now, Gallagher? Fuck the pop. We getting beer or liquor?” Mickey asked impatiently. He was getting really pissed off at this point, ready to go the fuck back home, but suddenly a feeling came over him he couldn’t explain. He’d felt fear and knew what it was like to sleep with one eye open after living with Terry for so long and having been in juvie. This was different.

It was like he’d been transported to this same space in a different time, his head pounding and a tightness gripping his chest. He needed air. Fuck it, he’d wait for Ian outside and expect him to get the message to hurry up. He mumbled something to the clerk before heading outside and waiting under a street light. And that’s when the memory hit - no pun intended.

_“You fuckin’ suck!”_

_Was it really his voice that sounded like a little scared bitch?_ _The thought crossed his mind, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain. He was there, in agony, lying on the floor of the store. All of a sudden, he felt hands on his shoulders, a body leaning over him as if trying to protect him from another round in case the shooter had truly lost it._

Now he was back in the present day, Ian in front of him with their beer in hand, his green eyes filled with worry. Mickey took a deep breath and composed himself before speaking.

“Did I get shot in that store?” he asked, shaken up by the vivid recollection.

In response, Ian’s eyes grew wide. “But that was after you and me...” the redhead paused, a barrage of questions forming on his lips.

Mickey was ready to shut him down. “Yeah, I remember getting shot. Don’t wanna talk about it. Just wanna go home and get my drink on. Capiche?”

“But Mick, that means you’re starting to -”

“‘Fuck off,’ I said. I don’t feel like playing your stupid twenty questions game right now.”

That got him quiet. Maybe it was a little too much, Mickey noted, seeing the devastation on the poor sap’s face. Hell, the bastard was beautiful no matter what expression was resting on his stupid mug, but his smile was the real deal, and Mickey had gone and ruined the moment again. Mickey had his reasons, though. If it was his fucking memory, then he didn’t have to share it. In fact, he was grateful for the silence on their walk home, so he could focus on trying to call back other details.

_He was writhing around on the floor of the store with a bullet in his leg. Someone yelled at somebody else to call 911, and those same hands from before tried to wrap Mickey’s leg with a makeshift tourniquet while he heard a male voice blubbering on the phone in the background. _

He concentrated, trying to make heads or tails of the Good Samaritan. _ The hands had freckles: a lot of them. The arms were skinny and had just as many of the damn things. _

_ Mickey was rolled onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of an ambulance while cops hovered outside. He couldn’t see what was going on, but heard voices. Someone tried to climb into the back of the ambulance. Mickey told him to get the fuck out. As the person leaned over him, he caught a glimpse of his face. When Mickey looked through the back of the ambulance window at the spot where he’d just been standing, Ian Gallagher was now gone, having already disappeared into the night. _

Gallagher?! He looked like the young, skinny Ian Mickey remembered from before any of this batshit crazy time-jump stuff. As hard as Mickey tried, the events preceding the shooting were still a mystery. He could recall shoplifting from the store so many times, he could’ve started his own convenience store, so Mickey figured that was the reason why he’d gotten shot in the first place. Nothing else made sense.

_ Mickey couldn’t have been in the hospital for long before they threw him into the juvie holding center for processing. He didn’t know when he was questioned. But he must have been there at least long enough to have had a visitor, since he saw Gallagher standing over him with an expression of something like guilt. Mickey didn’t have a lot to say, doped up on painkillers, but he appreciated how the kid cared enough to extend this gesture to make sure he was okay when few others gave two fucks._

Mickey shook his head. What he couldn’t understand was why Ian, an innocent bystander, wore a guilty expression like _ he _ had been the one to pull the trigger. Still, for whatever bizarre reason, the kid - who had definitely turned into a man overnight, or however much time passed - was putting himself out there again to watch over Mickey after his head injury. Maybe he needed to cut the guy some slack and show some appreciation. _ Maybe. Just not too much._

* * *

When they arrived back at the Milkovich house, Iggy was parked in front of the TV in the living room, watching some nameless action movie on Netflix. Ian dumped the case of beer he was carrying onto the table, and Mickey grabbed a bottle opener from the kitchen. The two sat down next to Iggy with their beers, not caring about the movie.

After downing the beer, Mickey excused himself to use the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. He took another look at his haggard reflection in the mirror, grimacing, but didn’t dwell for too long on that. He unzipped his jeans, pushed them past his thighs and looked down. _ The fuck…? _

He traced his fingers around a round, faded dip of a scar, now nearly matching his skin tone, on his right thigh. He vaguely noticed it while showering and using the toilet, but hadn’t given it much thought. Now, with the recollection of what had happened, Mickey checked the back of his thigh for an exit wound scar, but there wasn’t one. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through.

“Damn, guess I really did get shot,” he murmured to himself. “Fuck.”

It occurred to Mickey that he hadn’t had the opportunity to rub one out lately. Fighting, fucking and jerking off had always been his outlets for dealing with stress, so why not?

“Fuck it,” he decided.

He sat down on the toilet, sighing in relief as the fingers of his right hand closed around his half-hard cock. He thought of Miranda, the nurse from the hospital. Her hair wasn’t quite red, more strawberry blond, but close enough. He tried to picture her tits, but they didn’t do much for him, and it wasn’t any better in the middle of sex, either. Pussy felt good on his dick and all, but tits were just..._ there_. He didn’t find any desire to squeeze or bury his face in them. Maybe he just wasn’t finding hot enough girls.

Mickey frowned, noticing his dick still wasn’t fully hard. The tits changed to strong arms and freckled, broad shoulders, a muscular torso. He moaned as loudly as he dared as he began to pump himself faster. He felt his cock finally grow to its full erect length. _ That’s better. _

From there, it was over. Mickey bit his lip to keep from making any more noise as he reached his climax, the thick white streams of his release coating his fingers. Sighing, he reached for the toilet paper, wiped himself down and flushed the toilet before washing his hands.

As he returned to the living room, Iggy pounced on his brother almost immediately. “So nice of you to join us, since we both fuckin’ know what you were doing in there,” he chortled. “But hey, it ain’t like you’ve had any chances to get laid since you left the hospital.”

“How the fuck would you know, numbnuts?” said Mickey defensively, picking up his beer that was still sitting on the coffee table. “And look who’s fuckin’ talkin', cuz I don’t think _ you’ve _brought any chicks home lately, either.”

“Says the one who don’t fuck chicks to begin with. At least, not anymore,” Iggy said after he took a drink from his own beer.

Mickey puffed up. “And what the fuck is _ THAT _supposed to mean?”

“I mean you don’t fuck chicks. Wait a minute: on second thought, I know you used to, but I know for a fact you don’t do it anymore, ain’t doing it now and ain’t gonna again.”

“The fuck do you know? I could walk outta here right now and find some chick to bang,” Mickey shot back at his older brother. “Like, right now. I dare you to tell me I can’t.”

Iggy stared, bug-eyed, back at Mickey. “Fuckin’ hell. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have said that, asshole!” Mickey slammed his beer bottle down hard on the tabletop. “I mean, hell, I should go fuck Angie. Everyone fucks Angie!”

Next to Iggy, Ian looked very much like he was trying to refrain from either throwing something at the TV, vomiting all over the floor, or some combination thereof. He just stared downward, oblivious to the movie or his drink.

Mickey noticed and turned to him in indignation. “The fuck’s up with the green face, Gallagher? The fuck is wrong with you?”

Ian turned to him. The look on the redhead’s face was haunting. It stunned Mickey. As he watched, Ian’s eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t…” was all Ian said. He looked away from Mickey and stared at the wall.

“Why the fuck not?”

Tears spilled over Ian’s beautiful green eyes and descended down his cheeks, but he said nothing and kept staring at nothing.

“What the…?” Mickey was dumbfounded at first, but soon suspected he’d made a big mistake, if he was reading the situation correctly. _ Oh, fuck. Gallagher looks like someone died. Because of what I said...I fucking hurt him. But I have to cover in front of Iggy. Fuck! _

Right on cue, Iggy stuck his nose in. “Uh...dude. That’s not fuckin’ cool. Seriously, it’s not. You should shut the fuck up and leave him alone. Just fuckin’ _ stop talkin' for once_.”

Still wearing the same expression, Ian got up. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t bother to check up on me.” His voice was monotone. He got up, walked almost robotically, to the bathroom and let the door close behind him. Mickey stared at it.

_ Fuck! _ Mickey’s mind felt like it was running in a million different directions at once. He was just dogshit terrible at expressing emotions other than anger, but he never wanted to see that dead look on Ian’s face again. He wanted to comfort him. _ But I can’t. I’m sorry. I want to see you smile, but I don’t know what you want from me. _

Iggy turned to his younger brother and gave him a punch, hard, in the arm. “Dude, what the hell?! Are you fuckin’ stupid or what?!” Iggy shouted. “Ian has it real fuckin’ bad for you, and you pull this shit. I can’t believe you!”

The sinking feeling in Mickey’s chest grew even more, but he physically couldn’t bring himself to follow Ian._ Iggy’s watching. And I’m not into dudes. I can’t be. _Instead, he turned to his time-tested strategy of coping with his feelings, like a favorite blanket. Mickey turned on Iggy and shouted, “He does, does he? Well, he’s shit outta luck. I ain’t a fag, so fuck you!”

“I don’t think -” was all Iggy got out. He was unable to dodge the fist that came flying at his nose with an audible _ crack_. Iggy staggered backward, hands going to his face in shock, blood dripping from his fingers. “What the _ fuck_, Mick! Have you gone insane_?!” _

Mickey stormed in his room and took a backpack from a small pile of shit Iggy told him was his, and dumped out the contents. He needed to get away, and he knew a surefire way to get out his all his aggression and find release. He knew exactly what he was going to do in order to make himself feel better. It worked before.

* * *

All the way down the street, Mickey fumed as he rotated Iggy’s words over and over in his head. Ian had the hots for him? Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have said what he did, but Ian had to find out one way or another that he’s not into dudes..._ right? _ But the vacant, dead-looking expression was haunting. He wanted to look right into those green eyes that looked so sad and comfort him. He wanted to make him feel better so he never had to see that sight again.

_ No. I can’t. I have to do this instead. _

It had been a while, but he still remembered the way to the run-down house three blocks away. As he walked up the driveway, it struck Mickey right away that something was off: it wasn’t run-down anymore. The yard was groomed to the point of being annoying, and there were big-ass autumn-themed decorations on the lawn instead of the garbage he was used to seeing whenever he came this way. No respectable South Sider should have anything this fucking tacky on their front lawn, or they should hang their heads in shame.

Mickey rang the doorbell and waited. About a minute later, a strange man appeared at the door, looking startled. As he looked Mickey up and down, his uncertainty seemed only to grow. His eyes lingered on Mickey’s knuckle tattoos, and his eyes widened even further. Mickey would have thought this was very funny were it not for what he came for.

“Hey,” Mickey said. “Is Angie around?”

“Umm…” the man answered. “No, she’s not. There’s no one by that name here.”

“David, who’s at the door?” A woman’s voice said from inside.

“Don’t worry about it!” The man - David - turned back to Mickey. “Listen, sir: I’m not sure who you’re looking for in this neighborhood, but we’ve owned and lived in this house for the last four years. Whomever you’re looking for, she doesn’t live here anymore. Have a good day.”

The door closed before Mickey could get another word out.

“Fuck!” Mickey cursed, kicking at one of the ugly decorations as he walked back to the sidewalk. Apparently a lot of time _ HAD _gone by. Angie was an alright lay and all. She always had the best weed, a steady supply of cheap booze, and she seemingly didn’t care that he couldn’t always get it up for her. It was embarrassing, sure, but he didn’t dwell on it and figured it was probably whiskey dick and normal.

Shaking his head, Mickey traveled back in the direction he’d come from. Since he couldn’t get laid, he figured he’d take the next best option he used when he was stressed out: one that wasn’t fighting, fucking or jerking off. He hopped on the L and headed toward the direction of the strip mall he would frequent regularly - and when he said “frequent,” he meant “lift what he dared without getting caught.” The backpack wasn’t big enough to draw too much unnecessary attention, but could fit enough in it.

Once the train stopped moving, he adjusted his fall jacket and considered the number of pockets he had in the jeans he was currently wearing. He cursed the jacket once he realized it had only a couple of shallow ones. _ Too bad I don’t still have the one with the cut-out lining. I could stuff so much shit in there. _

Mickey walked into a department store, not meeting the eyes of the sales associate who greeted him. He cased the place, knowing this routine was familiar but hoping his new look wouldn’t draw too much attention. It occurred to him that maybe he would actually draw _ less _attention, given that he apparently didn’t look like a teenager anymore and, in spite of his long hair, might look more put together.

He sifted through clothing on one of the racks, mentally judging how much he could sneak in the dressing room and wear out of the store under this jacket. He also took inventory of how much he could get in his pockets and the backpack. At least in this strange, fucked-up world he’d been dropped into for an equally fucked-up reason, some things didn’t change.

Mickey hit up a few other stores on the strip and managed to sneak some expensive watches and high-end gadgets he thought he could resell for a decent amount into the backpack. He’d found blind spots that didn’t have cameras and nobody followed him, so all was good.

He whistled as he got on the train, uncomfortably warm in spite of the cold and sweating because of the extra shirts. Thankfully, this wasn’t going to be a long ride back. Once he got off, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one, sighing as the nicotine filled his lungs. It was so great to be back, doing what he did best. He felt _ alive_. The high of not getting caught was as good as getting laid. _ Maybe even better. _

Mickey walked up the steps to his house and ambled inside, kicking off his shoes and taking off the backpack. He immediately met the angry eyes of both Iggy and Ian. He figured Ian would still be pissed at him from earlier, but at least he got nice new clothes. All Mickey had to do was rip the sleeves off the shirts and he’d be in business, but if he decided to let Gallagher have first pick, that should make it up to him for being an asshole. 

“What the fuck, Mickey?” Ian yelled. “Where have you been?! I saw you already punched Iggy. Hell, I almost did it to him a second time for letting you walk out like that. We didn’t know where you went, and since you don’t have a fucking phone anymore, we couldn’t call you!”

The blue-eyed man shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. “Wherever. I hit up the strip mall. Got you shit we could probably either use or sell.” He dumped out all the contents of the backpack and took off the jacket and a few of the extra shirts he had on, sighing in relief. Iggy and Ian stared, wide-eyed, at the pile of stolen merchandise. Mickey beamed at them with a sense of pride and shot them his signature smirk, but was met with silence in return.

Eventually, Ian, who looked thunderstruck, broke the awkward tension. “Mick, what the fuck have you done? Did you…?”

“Yeah. Lifted all this while you guys were arguin’ over who had to fuckin’ keep an eye on me and all that dumb shit like emotions,” said Mickey coolly. “Here. I got some shirts for you to wear. Some might not fit, but others are bigger than what I usually wear.”

_ Gallagher had to appreciate this, right? Hell, he can have them all if means he won’t be mad at me anymore. That’s all I want. _

By now, the redhead’s mouth was open so wide, it looked like it could have caught a whole hive of bees and still fit even more of them. Mickey’s heart sank, but he forced his face into a neutral expression. The Gallaghers were hardly saints and Iggy was Iggy, so why were they looking at him like he did something horrible? Since when were they such hypocrites?

_ “_What the _ fuck_, Mickey?!” Ian finally blurted out.

Mickey just shrugged in response, done trying to justify himself. “Relax, psycho.”


	5. Chapter 5

How was it that Mickey couldn’t remember shit from their past, but his subconscious kept calling up interactions they’d had - and not the Hallmark Channel ones? Then again, Ian didn’t think they’d had any Hallmark moments to begin with in their relationship.

_ He didn't use a rubber? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? Fuck. _

_ Relax, psycho. _

_ You are out of your fuckin’ - Don't touch me! _

Ian had never forgotten the morning when he’d come home after doing the porno and seen the fear and disgust plastered across Mickey’s face. He could still feel that sweaty wad of money in his hand after being filmed having sex with a random dude, something he knew now was absolutely asinine and dangerous, but at the time, he was in a manic episode and more worried about keeping Mickey happy than anything else.

And his boyfriend responded in a completely reasonable way, confronting him about needing help, telling him they were going to a psych ward or the ER. However, Mickey didn’t have enough experience with bipolar disorder to know Ian would resist seeking treatment at any cost, or that he would take things to a new extreme by kidnapping Yevgeny. God, he’d fucked up royally, and Mickey had still forgiven him and let him back into his life - Yev’s too.

Now the tables were turned. Ian needed to keep a close watch over Mickey, put his own needs aside for the moment: his need to be loved and recognized by the only man he wanted. Mickey wasn’t well, waving his dick around the neighborhood, talking about fucking Angie and then stealing like a two-bit criminal, despite being freshly paroled from prison. 

Ian was living with the familiar dread of watching a loved one spiral out of control and feeling utterly helpless. It happened with Monica and he’d suffered, but this was a new kind of suffering. It made him furious, not at Mickey per se, but with the whole goddamn universe. He pushed past Mickey and flew out the front door of the Milkovich house, letting it slam hard behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He screamed into the evening sky, his hands clenched in fists at his sides, the veins in his neck popping out like the Incredible Hulk. _ Why is this happening? _ raged Ian to himself. _ We were finally in the clear, finally had a chance to be together and not cooped up in a cell. _When he received the call from Dr. Peterson about Mickey being injured, but likely okay and a candidate for early release, he almost thought of the accident as a godsend: Mickey would finally be a free man. Free.

_ Ian, what you and I have makes me free. _

“Well, not if you’re going to get busted for shoplifting and violating your parole, Mickey!” He was yelling on his way back into the house as he tore through the living room, ignoring the dumbfounded Milkovich brothers, and went straight into Mickey’s room, where he went to town. 

He’d seen Fiona do this a thousand times: toss the rooms in their house for contraband because a social worker was coming over, or her PO. She’d leave no stone unturned and neither would he. Before Mickey or Iggy could come in and stop him, he’d slammed the door shut and shoved a chair in front of it, hoping it would hold up against the incessant pounding that started as soon as the door closed. Almost immediately, there were muffled voices coming from the other side of the door.

“The fuck you doing, Gallagher?!"

“Hey, Ian, man! Come out! Let’s talk about this.” 

And then more from Iggy: “Shit, let’s call Mandy. Maybe she can get him to calm the fuck down.”

Ian worked feverishly and frantically, tearing open drawers, flipping the mattress off the bed, pulling shit out of Mickey’s closet and shoving furniture out of place. _ What was he looking for? _Any stash, any illegal arms, any shit Mickey would be hoarding in here, since he’d converted into a lousy teenage thug. To top it all off: he was tormenting Ian, worse than he’d ever done, with threats of fucking women and then doing thoughtless juvenile shit that was going to land him back in the slammer, head injury or no head injury.

He continued ransacking the room until every nook and corner had been explored, eventually uncovering some porn in the back of Mickey’s closet - gay porn, so he probably wasn’t aware it was in there - and a couple of unmarked bottles of pills, which he would be flushing momentarily. There were two unloaded pistols in a shoebox under the bed, and when he felt around in the back corner of the room behind the dresser, Ian found something that caused him to nearly stop breathing.

The metal felt rough in his hand, lighter than he would have expected. He pulled it out slowly and gripped the object, blowing the dust away and shaking his head in disbelief.

Just then, the door was violently shoved open. Mickey was standing on the other side, adrenaline pumping from having just kicked his way into the room, chest heaving as he was taking in the destruction the redhead caused. He stomped inside, ready to throw punches, when he was thwarted by Ian shoving him into the wall and poking the tire iron into his chest.

“You hiding anything else in here, Mick? Huh?” Ian glared into rage-filled blue eyes but dared Mickey to try anything. He was done with his shit and feeling more enraged than the day he’d come after Mickey in this very room for Kash’s gun. 

For the first time in a while, Mickey made a wise decision and remained still, eyebrows raised in anticipation of whatever Ian had to say or do next, but the redhead was becoming distinctly aware of how turned on he was in the moment and wondering if Mickey wasn’t feeling the same vibe. Ian didn’t dare push any closer - it might set Mickey off - but he sure as fuck wanted to. 

Finally, Mickey muttered through gritted teeth, “The fuck did you do in here, Firecrotch?!”

Iggy rushed into the room, holding his phone up and shouting, “Mandy! Hurry the fuck up. They’re about to go at it.”

But they weren’t, actually. At the sound of his famous moniker, Ian dropped the tire iron and slowly backed away from Mickey, watching the brunet’s expression shift from anger to utter confusion. Ian kicked a pile of clothes out of the way and slumped down onto the floor. A chuckle formed in his throat before converting to a full-on belly laugh. It wasn’t long before he was doubled over in hysterics at the absurdity of the situation, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

First, it had been the memories from the Kash and Grab, then Mickey trying to talk his dick out of what he really wanted by going over to Angie’s, followed by the shoplifting and utter stupidity his once-savvy boyfriend demonstrated. Then, it was finding the fucking tire iron. Had Mickey held onto it all these years, or was it just a dusty relic from their past that was completely meaningless now?

It was all too much. Ian was doing the best he could to hold his shit together, but nothing was working in his favor. When Mickey mumbled something to Iggy about how “Red is going batshit crazy,” Ian laughed even harder, to the point that his stomach was hurting, and he pressed his hand into his ribs, trying to catch his breath.

Iggy reached his hand out to Ian, standing in between him and Mickey, just in case their sudden truce ended. “C’mon, Ian. Mandy’s on her way. It’s probably time we all talked.”

Ian’s laughter slowed, and he grabbed onto Iggy’s arm to pull himself up, surveying the mess he’d made but also pointing triumphantly at the pile of questionable items he’d uncovered. “We need to get rid of that shit.”

By now, Mickey had picked up the tire iron and was looking at it curiously. Ian and Iggy seized the opportunity to leave the room, but it didn’t take Mickey long to notice.

“The fuck?! Get back here and clean this shit up, Gallagher!” Mickey yelled as he tossed the tire iron to the floor and the clattering sound echoed into the next room.

“Just give him a minute, Mickey.” Iggy rushed back to the doorway to block it in case Mickey tried to antagonize Ian more.

Meanwhile, Ian went to the fridge for a cold beer and twisted the cap off. He didn’t bother picking it up as it bounced off the counter into the sink. He polished it off and then grabbed another one. He was on his third when he could see the headlights from Mandy’s car through the front window. Iggy and Mickey were busy putting the room back together, and Ian could hear Mickey shouting about how the porn didn’t belong to him and why the fuck wasn’t Gallagher cleaning up this mess.

“Well, the porn ain’t mine, it ain’t Mandy, Jamie, Joey or Colin’s, and it sure as _ fuck _ain’t Dad’s. If it ain’t yours, then who does that leave? The fuckin’ ghost of Liberace?"

Mandy rushed inside, seeing Ian right away and going to him. She pulled him into a hug and stood on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. “I’m so sorry. I know this is a lot on you.” 

Ian sighed, mentally and physically exhausted. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he murmured defeatedly.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” She nodded towards the front door, and they stepped outside to talk privately. They wouldn’t have long before Mickey emerged from his room, ready to go off like the unruly adolescent he’d recently become.

They settled down on the front step, Mandy resting her head on Ian’s shoulder as he spoke. “Iggy tell you what Mickey did today?"

“Yeah, he texted me.” She threaded her arm against his. “Fucking Mickey. Which part has you more upset: the Angie thing, or the shoplifting?”

“I don’t know.” Ian rested his cheek against her soft hair. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed his best friend. Being in her presence took the edge away - at least, temporarily. “Now that I think about it, I doubt the Angie thing even happened. Didn’t she move a while back?”

“Think so.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he wanted to...fuck somebody else.”

“I know. I’ll talk to him.”

Ian shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’m more concerned about him stealing and getting caught. We need to find something for him to do with his idle hands. And I don’t care what he says, I’m not going anywhere if he tries to throw me out. Even if he fucking tells me he never wants to see me again and I’m a fuck-up who has no business taking care of myself, let alone him, I’m not going to hide in the bathroom again and trust Iggy to keep him from pulling another runner. I'm going to watch his every move. Iggy tries, but Mickey knows how to play him.”

“You’re right. And maybe I can take some time off. Let’s go somewhere, get away from this house, at least for the day.”

“It’s a nice idea, Mandy, but I’m broke as fuck.”

“Well...think about it.”

“Okay. Think you can keep an eye on Mickey for a little while? I’m going to go back to my place and grab some more shit. Obviously, I’ve been over here for two nights now and I’ve got most of the basics, but I want to grab a few more things I didn’t bring already.”

Mandy nodded, and Ian kissed her on the head before standing up and starting down the stairs. 

“Hey! But at least I won’t need to pack any more shirts.”

“Why’s that?” asked Mandy with a flicker of a smile dancing across her lips.

“Mickey stole plenty for me.”

* * *

God, it had been a long-ass day. Ian half hoped his siblings would be out of the house and not bombard him with questions about Mickey. Debbie meant well, but she was constantly texting him: _ Does Mickey remember you now? What about now? Any luck? Didn’t he put two and two together with the tattoo of your name over his friggin’ heart? _

Lip knew to just let it be, unless - of course - he had the opportunity to fuck around with Mickey, apparently. No need to bring Mickey around again anytime soon, unless it was just Liam at home. 

When Ian walked inside the house, he’d pretty much gotten his wish. Liam was hanging out on the sofa, watching television and finishing up what looked like some algebra - the kid was smart like Lip - but way too studious. 

“Hey, Ian. Rough day?” Liam stuck his fist out and waited for Ian to bump him back.

“Yeah. Are you the only one home? Did you eat?”

“Yup; frozen pizza. Debbie’s upstairs with Franny, and Lip is out with Tami. You coming back and staying for the night, or spending another night at Mickey’s? We miss you here.”

“No, I'm going to be staying at Mickey’s again.”

Liam turned around in his seat and shut his textbook. “Progress?” he asked hopefully.

Ian appreciated his little brother’s enthusiasm but didn’t have the energy to go into any details. “Sort of,” he shrugged, “but I need to do a better job of keeping an eye on him.”

“Well, he’s a cool dude. I can help out some. If you need a babysitter...I mean, uh, shit! Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ian patted him on the head and went into the kitchen to get something to eat. There was a piece of pizza left and before Ian could ask, Liam called out, “It’s yours!”

“Thanks, dude. I’ll be upstairs for a little while,” the redhead hollered back before stuffing the cold slice in his mouth and heading up the stairs. Debbie’s door was open just a crack, so he peeked inside to check on her. Like most nights since he’d been home, she’d fallen asleep reading to Franny. Ian went quietly into the room to cover them with a blanket, then retreated to Fiona’s old room to get his stuff.

It was a no-brainer where he wanted to sleep tonight, but he’d thought he and Mickey would be sharing a bed by now. That’s what they’d done most nights at Beckman, mainly because Ian would be too spent from sex to bother getting onto the top bunk. And Mickey liked to cuddle, though he always claimed he had no other choice since his “red-headed Sasquatch of a boyfriend” took up more than half the bed.

Fuuuuuck, it had been too long since Ian had been able to hold Mickey in his arms, to feel something more than tension and hostility when they were physically close. Like today with the goddamn tire iron, bringing back memories of their first time. Ian pushed these thoughts to the side, too pissed off and fucking emotional to even stop and process the obvious sexual tension between them: that day and now. If only he’d pushed Mickey into the wall a little harder, ground up against him - he was 100% certain Mickey had a hard-on, knowing what got his boyfriend going, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Ian knew what he needed to do to release the tension from the day. Ever since he was released from prison up until Mickey’s accident, he’d been jerking off at least daily. Now was as good a time as any before he had to go back into the lion’s den to face whatever new antics Mickey would have up his sleeve.

Ian locked the door to the room and pulled his shirt off before laying down. He closed his eyes, concentrating on glimpses from that decisive afternoon eight years ago - their first time. He had walked into the Milkovich house and burst into Mickey’s room with no exit strategy. _ If I didn’t end up banging Mickey, I probably would have ended up dead - but we both wanted it, so here we fucking are. _

Ian unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped his fly and pulled himself out. He stroked his cock and closed his eyes as he pictured a younger Mickey, the “piece of South Side trash” he’d shockingly ended up fucking that fateful day. Mickey wasn’t as built then as he was now, but he already had the beginnings of the stocky, solid body, arms with a decent amount of muscle and the legs and ass he’d never get enough of.

“Fuck, Mickey…” Ian moaned softly.

Those legs and thick thighs and that perfect ass. Ian wouldn’t dare tell Mickey in this state, but his boyfriend was even more attractive each time they were reunited and Ian saw him after a long separation. Ian swore Mickey had gotten more “junk in the trunk” while in Mexico, so to speak, in the best way. As far as Ian was concerned, it was more Mickey for him to love, squeeze, and fuck. Mickey grumbled and worried he was getting fat, but his legs were all solid muscle and he’d cry if that ass ever went anywhere.

And Mickey still had the long hair Ian had begged him to let grow while they were in the joint. He looked so fucking good all scruffy - it was agony to not be able to touch him. Letting out a soft moan, Ian tightened his grip on his cock, imagining it was Mickey’s hand, or better still, his warm, tight, welcoming hole he was fucking instead of just his own hand. He tried to keep his moans down to a reasonable volume as he stroked himself to completion.

* * *

After cleaning himself up, Ian headed downstairs and reminded his brother to get some sleep: he’d check in with everyone over the next couple of days.

Ian was feeling more clear headed, but still had a sense of frustration he couldn’t quite put his finger on. On a whim, he pulled out his phone and dialed Fiona. She answered on the third ring.

“Ian! How the hell are you?” _ God, it was great to hear her voice. _

“How much time do you have?”

Fiona laughed, and he told her the entire story, from the call he’d received in the middle of the night to the ransacking of Mickey’s room. She got a kick out of that one.

“I’m a damn idiot, and I keep thinking we’re making progress, only to come to find out, we’re not.”

“Sorry, babe. I don’t have a lot of experience with amnesia. Hangovers and forgettin’ how I ended up in certain hotel rooms, yes.”

“It’s a Gallagher rite of passage to wake up and not know where the fuck you are,” Ian laughed. “But yeah, never imagined I’d be trying to recreate someone else’s memories. And I thought I was getting somewhere with Mickey. Like, when I took him over to what used to be the Kash and Grab, seeing if that would jog his memory.”

“That place hasn’t been called the Kash and Grab since around the time Kash was grabbin’ you.”

“Real funny, Fiona.” Ian wondered if his older sister could hear his smile through the phone.

“You know you miss me.”

“Yeah, we all do.”

“Ha, even with me ridin’ you about your meds?”

“Maybe not that,” Ian snorted, remembering how Mickey used to do the same for him. Even at Beckman he’d bring it up every once in awhile, worried the infirmary tech would fuck something up and give him the wrong dosage. 

He continued with his account of the day’s events. “So after we left the store, Mickey remembered being shot, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push. Fuck, I don’t even think he knows he’s into dudes. He, uh...well, he started talking about going to fuck Angie Zago just to prove his point.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Angie Zago? Mickey loves _ you. _How is this even possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does his doctor say?”

“I should probably call her to check in. But the last thing she said was to be patient, make sure he stays safe. I’ve been reading about hypnosis as a possible treatment, but no way Mickey would go for it.” Ian could only imagine what Mickey would say: probably that he’d be mind-controlled by some schmuck on a stage in front of an audience over his dead body, since that was likely all his limited knowledge of psychotherapy would include.

“So, take him to other places. Some of your old hangouts.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but Mickey sees right through that shit.” _ Maybe a trip to the dugout is in order, though. I mean, I can’t say I would really mind seeing it again_.

“Try the friend thing. Be his buddy until he starts remembering the feelings between you.”

“Yeah, guess I’ll just have to be patient and look for an opportunity.”

“Well, call me anytime. I’m just working and trying to figure out my next move. Thinkin’ about buying a restaurant. It’s kind of a dive, but it’s got charm.”

“Sounds nice. Keep us posted. Might need a job again, you know, when I’m cleared to go across state lines.”

“Will do. Love you, babe.”

“Love you, Fiona.”

* * *

Once Ian arrived back at the Milkovich house, he went inside to discover Mandy and Iggy picking at the pile of shit Mickey had stolen. The items were still where Mickey had dumped them in the living room, sitting there in all their ill-gotten glory.

Mandy shook her head. “What the…I mean, I guess I can’t be too surprised, given what you guys and Dad did back in the day, but damn. How did he get some of this?”

She bent down for a closer look. “Let’s see...we got watches, cell phone accessories..._FOUR _ pairs of earbuds and a Bluetooth speaker. And how many damn shirts are there? How did he do all this? You said he was gone for only a couple of hours.”

“He’s a Milkovich,” Iggy said, shaking his head. “I mean, goin’ clean, that don’t wipe out what we already know how to do. And he came home wearin’ a few of these shirts under his jacket. The rest of ‘em were shoved in that backpack.” Iggy kicked the bag with his foot.

“For fuck’s sake!” Ian cursed. “Iggy, I hate to be the one to ask this, but what’s the over under on how likely it is for cops to show up at our door in a couple of days? We have to get rid of all of this, along with the shit in Mickey’s room, for when the PO comes.”

“Two things: it ain’t likely at all. Pigs got better things to do in the South Side, and if he got outta there clean and no LP stopped him as he left the stores, we’re good. As for gettin’ rid of the stuff: why? I know from back in the day they look for drugs, guns and shit, not this kinda loot. I mean, some of this we actually could use and we can’t exactly bring it back.”

“Iggy…” Ian started.

“Don’t ‘Iggy’ me, bro. You Gallaghers ain’t exactly Mother Teresa. Stop me if I’m wrong, but I seem to recall comin’ home and finding more and more _ suitcases _ in our living room back when you were livin’ here before Mick went to the can the first time. I _ would _ say I don’t think the fuckin’ airport fairy brought ‘em there. But if by ‘fairy’ I mean you - no offense - I’d be a fuckin’ liar.”

Ian started to open his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He sputtered, “That was totally different. I was manic. My impulse control was shit. I had zero concept of consequences of actions at the time. Once I came out of those manic states, I felt mortified over what I’d done, and because I wasn’t in any state to make better choices. I honestly wasn’t.”

“Neither is he! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Mick’s a few clowns short of a circus right now. How the fuck is that different from how you were?”

“Because Mickey has full fucking control over his impulses! I didn’t!”

Iggy sighed. “If you say so. I’m gonna go back in Mickey’s room and make sure he hasn’t done more stupid shit like put his fist through the wall.”

Mandy sighed. “Ian, I think Iggy’s kind of off-base here, but he does have a point. Mickey was there for you through the worst times of your life. I was here for the start of it, but then Kenyatta dragged me to Indiana and I couldn’t come back to see you. It was too dangerous. But I got strange, long, rambling text messages from you that didn’t make much sense. I knew something was very wrong, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here then.”

Ian responded quietly, “Guess we’ve all had our share of shitty cards dealt to us. Wish I could have stopped you from moving to Indiana, Mands. This current situation sucks ass, but I’m grateful we’re all together again. Mickey’s had my back for a long time, at least as far back as when he found me drugged out at the Fairy Tail and brought me here.” 

He paused to consider the many other times Mickey was his rock - one of the biggest was Mickey voluntarily going _ back to prison _ and keeping a watch over him at Beckman, where Ian was likely to get his ass beat every day. Oh, he would have fought back, but it might have cost him his sanity or his life.

Mandy patted his shoulder. “And now Mickey needs you. He needs you more than anything, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”


	6. Chapter 6

If Mickey had known an average, everyday trip to the strip mall to lift some random shit would have resulted in the situation they were in now, he probably wouldn’t have gone through the hassle. _ Fuck, __what am I saying? I still would have done it! I just wouldn't have offered any of it to Ian Gallagher’s ungrateful ass, because all he did when he saw it was yell a bunch and then run into my bedroom. The fuck?!_

“Fuckin’ Gallagher!” Mickey cursed the redhead as he pounded on the door to his room - _ his own fucking bedroom! _The fucker had a lot of nerve. First, Ian didn’t seem to care about the haul he’d risked getting caught in order to lift. Then, he’d tried to act all high and mighty, like Frank and his brood never ripped people off, scammed or outright stolen to get what they wanted.

“The fuck you doing, Gallagher?!” Mickey yelled, slamming his fist into the closed door, followed by his shoulder as he tried body checking it like a hockey player.

Next to him, Iggy was calmer, “Hey, Ian, man! Come out! Let’s talk about this.” He stepped away from the door and seemed to give up. The taller man looked at his dark-haired little brother, who was still red-faced, breathing heavily and furious, and got his attention. The shorter man cocked an eyebrow at Iggy, wondering what bright idea he had now.

“Shit, let’s call Mandy. Maybe she can get him to calm the fuck down.”

Mickey grunted briefly in acknowledgment, still focused on getting through this damn door, as Iggy stepped away and fished in the pocket of his jeans for his phone. But Mickey wasn’t about to give up so easily. He yelled in frustration and anger and kicked as hard as he could. _ Jackpot_. He glowered at Ian, who was standing in the middle of what looked like the aftermath of an F5 tornado, with a tire iron in his hand. Mickey stormed towards the redhead with every single intention of kicking his sorry ass into tomorrow.

Before Mickey could come any closer, the fucker grabbed him by the shoulders, hard, and manhandled him into the wall, the tire iron jabbing him in the chest. Since Iggy clearly said Ian had a thing for him - before he decided to leave on the Angie and strip mall missions - Mickey figured it should bother him to have a gay dude in such close proximity to himself, faces close together. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him at all. Quite the opposite. _ I wasn’t kidding when I said Gallagher has gotten strong. And damn me to hell if it’s not a turn on._

“You hiding anything else in here, Mick? Huh?”

Stunned by the tone of voice and the fact that Gallagher had the nerve to talk to him like this in his own fucking room, Mickey stood there like a statue. He couldn’t believe Ian had grown such a set of brass balls, but he noticed something else. _ Mickey was getting a fucking boner._

He felt a surge of panic and embarrassment, but was extremely thankful he was wearing jeans baggy enough (he hoped) to hide the tent he had fully pitched by now. He recovered quickly, hoping against hope Ian didn’t notice his traitorous dick. ”The fuck did you do in here, Firecrotch?!”

Just then, Iggy barged in at the worst possible moment, the way only Iggy could. He was yelling into his phone, “Mandy! Hurry the fuck up. They’re about to go at it.”

Of more pressing concern: Mickey’s statement seemed to leave Ian completely dumbfounded, the tire iron clattering to the floor as the taller man backed away. This was confusing enough, but then the fucker started _ laughing_. It wasn’t just a chuckle, either. It was a fucking belly laugh that had him rolling around on the floor of Mickey’s room like a man possessed.

Mickey just kept staring in shock and indignation. “The fuck? Red’s goin’ batshit crazy!” he exclaimed, turning to Iggy as Ian continued to laugh harder. Adding to Mickey’s confusion, the older Milkovich leaned down, helped Ian up, and placed his body between the redhead and the brunet, trying to diffuse a fight Mickey still was not entirely convinced wasn’t coming.

“C’mon, Ian. Mandy’s on her way. It’s probably time we all talked.”

Ian, whose eyes were still watering from his fit of laughter, pointed a finger at Mickey’s stuff he’d dug out from all corners of the room. “We need to get rid of that shit.”

The discarded tire iron on the floor caught Mickey’s eye. He frowned and bent over to pick it up. It was dusty and old-looking. There wasn’t anything special about it, but for some reason he had this memory of being poked in the back with this thing, in this very room, as he was sleeping. _ Who the fuck would do that unless they had a goddamn death wish?_

Mickey snapped back to reality. Unbeknownst to him until now, he was currently standing alone in his bedroom with a huge mess he didn’t make to begin with. Furious that Iggy had followed Ian out, he shouted, “The fuck?! Get back here and clean this shit up, Gallagher!”

He dropped the tire iron, cringing at the clanking sound it made as it hit the floor, before Iggy returned. “Just give him a minute, Mickey.”

Iggy was now trying to use his lanky frame to intentionally block Mickey’s path out of the bedroom. _What the fuck? When did Gallagher and my brother become such close pals? _Resigned to the fact that Gallagher was going to be a pain in his ass today - and for some reason, Iggy was enabling him - Mickey shook his head and started to examine the stuff Ian had tossed around.

At least Iggy finally offered to help him sort through the mess. Mickey focused his attention on the things the redheaded fucker claimed were getting thrown out. _ Not if I have anything to say about it. _ He tried to remember where everything went, but there seemed to be way less of it than he thought. His Ruger was still here, as was the Glock Iggy managed to get for him from who-knows-where. But plenty of other shit didn’t seem to be here at all. Mickey hoped Gallagher hadn’t taken it. If he had, it gave him even less room to bitch about all the things he’d jacked from the stores.

Iggy snickered, drawing Mickey’s attention. “Well, lookie what we have here. Looks like you got a type, and now I know what _ else _ you like.”

The shorter man turned to look. His eyes widened as he saw what Iggy was holding up: a magazine with a half-naked dude on the cover. As his brother flipped through it, he noticed pictures of men in various stages of undress, with more explicit ones on the inside. Some of the pages were dog-eared or tabbed with ripped Post-It notes. Iggy pointed specifically at one. Under the tab was a rather explicit photo of a muscular, redheaded model.

“The fuckin’ hell! That ain’t mine! I don’t know where the fuck it came from, but I sure as hell didn’t put it there! And I don’t give a shit about a bunch of naked dudes, I care that Gallagher’s ginger ass ain’t in here cleaning this up after he made this mess!”

“Well, the porn ain’t mine, it ain’t Mandy, Jamie, Joey or Colin’s, and it sure as _ fuck _ain’t Dad’s. If it ain’t yours, then who does that leave? The fuckin’ ghost of Liberace?”

“Who the fuck is Liberace?!”

“Never mind, bro.”

Iggy’s face still bore an infuriating look that made Mickey wanted to punch him again. However, since the older man’s nose was almost certainly broken from the number the punch had done on it earlier, cotton balls stuffed in his nostrils, Mickey decided to show uncharacteristic mercy.

* * *

After about an hour or so, they managed to clean up the bulk of the mess, with Mickey doing the lion’s share - largely because after the porn debacle, he started complaining loudly about his siblings touching his shit. Iggy took a break. At some point, Mickey realized that Mandy was back at the house, engaging in conversations he couldn’t hear and didn’t care about. And maybe Gallagher was still there. Maybe he wasn’t. _Whatever_.

Iggy eventually returned to help with the room. Cursing to himself, Mickey saw another box Ian had managed to leave intact.

“What the fuck is this?” Mickey asked.

“Your personal effects that came with you from Beckman. Not a whole lot.”

“Yeah? Let’s see what’s in here.”

Mickey opened the lid to find a stack of drawings on top of the box, one of which showed a sandy beach and a beautiful coastline. _ Damn, I’ve always wanted to go to the beach. Must have drawn it. _He found another drawing of a shirtless dude, and one of a cross he definitely couldn’t explain. In a separate bag was a very old-looking, tattered picture of none other than Ian Gallagher himself.

_Gallagher?!_

He held the photo up. It was a wonder it was still holding together at all, given the number of times it looked like it had been folded and unfolded. It showed Ian, looking slightly older than he had in the memory from being shot in the Kash and Grab, holding his middle finger up to the camera. He looked carefree and happy.

Mickey turned to Iggy. “I just found a picture of Gallagher in here that looks like it’s been through a fuckin’ war. What gives?

“Can’t say I’m too fuckin’ surprised, given what we all keep tryin’ to tell you. You must have taken it with you when you went in.”

The brunet sat down and scratched his head. “I don’t fuckin’ believe this. I had a goddamn picture of Gallagher with me when I went to the can. What the fuck is this? Why?”

“Not sure how much of this you’re gonna get, but it probably has somethin’ to do with the real fuckin’ obvious tent you were pitching when Ian had you pinned against that wall.”

Mickey’s eyes grew wide in horror. “The FUCK?! You trying to get me to hit you again?”

Iggy smirked again as Mickey started to panic. “You denying it? Can’t exactly deny what I saw with my own eyes.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar!”

Iggy shook his head. “No homo or nothing, but those jeans are way tighter on you than they were the last time you were here. They don’t hide nearly as much as they used to when we were both younger and skinnier. You had an extremely obvious boner for Ian Gallagher.”

_ The nerve of this fucking asshole! _Mickey just stared at him. “You callin’ me fat?” he said, feeling his chest puffing out like it often did when he was about to get angry.

“Never said all of you. Just your ass. I’m sure Gallagher’s told you that plenty with all the times he’s been balls deep in it.”

“Fuck you!”

“But that’s not the point. My point is: stop tryin' to deny this shit. We know. Even Dad knows. You told us. You don’t have any memory of it, but you don’t gotta pretend in front of us anymore. I mean it. Even. Dad. Fuckin’. Knows. Obviously he didn’t take it well, but nobody else cares except him. Even the rest of our folks. They all just pretended to care in order to keep Dad happy and from beating them to death, but they don’t give a shit who you’re fuckin'.”

“MANDY!”

After a few seconds, his sister appeared in the doorway. “What?!”

Mickey whirled around to face her, his eyes wild. “I just found a fuckin’ picture of Gallagher in my shit that supposedly came to me from Beckman. And shit-for-brains here told me I had a goddamn boner when he put his hands on me!”

Iggy backed off. “Sorry, bro, I’m outta here.” He pushed past Mandy and went to the living room. Mickey flipped off his retreating back.

“Mickey...I’m sorry, but he probably wasn’t wrong,” said Mandy. “Your mind may not remember, but your body hasn’t forgotten. Iggy’s right. You did tell Dad you’re gay.”

“You’re both fuckin’ insane!” Mickey bellowed.

Just then, Ian’s head popped in the open door. “Mickey. Listen to me, please...”

“_Gallagher_? I thought you already left like an hour ago. Get the fuck outta here! Fuckin’ go back to your house and let me think about all of this shit, cuz I can’t deal with it!”

In response, Ian stepped further into the room. “NO! I’m not going anywhere! Iggy is right! Mandy is right! I’m sorry you can’t remember, but if would you stop treating me like dirt on your goddamn shoe, that’d be fucking great! I’m trying to _ help _ you, and you do this!”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck _ you_!”

“Guys, I’m going to leave you to discuss this, _ alone_. I’ll be in the living room with Iggy.” Mandy coaxed Ian the rest of the way into the bedroom with her hands and closed the door.

Mickey turned on Ian. “Fuck off, Gallagher! I told you: I don’t wanna deal with your shit anymore today, and yet your giant freckled ass is still here in my room!”

“Well, too fucking bad! I said I’m not going anywhere and I mean it, Mickey!”

Mickey shoved Ian in the chest, hard, causing him to land backwards onto the bed. The shorter man climbed on top of him and raised his fist, ready to punch Ian...then he realized his jeans were uncomfortably tight, and the fact that he was straddling Ian made it ten times worse. Gallagher could see and probably feel it, but he didn’t care. Blue eyes met green.

“_Fuck it!”_

As if possessed by an unknown force, he freed Ian and tore off his own shirt, nearly ripping it in his haste to rid himself of the bothersome material. Mickey rolled sideways on the mattress to fumble at the button of his jeans, then helped Ian remove his shirt as well. Mickey ran his hands along Ian’s chest, hardly able to believe how turned on he was. His chest was so sculpted, hard and just perfect. The brunet was still wearing his boxers, but at least the confining jeans were in a pile on the floor.

“Mickey…” Ian breathed.

“Take off those fuckin’ pants. _ Now_.”

Ian’s eyes grew wide as he obeyed. A taunting voice inside of Mickey’s head, one sounding suspiciously like Iggy, was questioning this turn of events. _ You wanna see his cock? I thought you weren’t gay. _But Mickey chose to ignore it for the time being.

Once the jeans were off, the brunet stared appreciatively at the tent in Ian’s plaid boxers. He could tell Ian was _ huge _ and couldn’t wait to see if he knew how to use it, too. His cock leaked at that possibility. A wet spot was growing in his boxers as he felt himself throbbing, so he removed them to free his erection. He noticed Red salivating at the mouth now that he was stark naked and his dick was on full display.

Mickey didn’t think his body or his cock was anything to write home about, but Ian was into it. Way fucking into it, egging Mickey on to go further and even the playing field.

“Take those fuckin’ things off, too. Let me see that big fuckin’ cock.” _ Where the fuck did that come from? _ His mouth seemed to be moving independently of his brain as he gestured to Ian’s boxers.

Ian got up from the bed and stepped out of his underwear, his heavy, fully erect cock bobbing from the movement of his body.

“Holy fuck.” Mickey nearly cried inside as he gawked at the redhead’s dick. It was extremely long and thick, cut, with a head the same pink color as his lips. A bead of pre-cum was forming at the slit, and Mickey wanted more than anything to taste it and, if all went well, feel it deep inside him.

_ Wait, when had he ever wanted to taste another dude’s jizz or have a dick up his ass, especially one the size of a damn elephant’s trunk? _

“Like what you see?”

_ Now seemed like as good a time as any. _ “Fuck, yeah.” Mickey moved across the bed to where Ian was still standing and took his cock into his hand, stroking it from base to tip. “What do you want, Red? Tell me.”

“You. I want to fuck you. If you’ll let me.”

”Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ let you.”

Ian practically skipped over to Mickey’s dresser to root through the top drawer, producing a tube of lube Mickey had never seen before.

“Not sure who put that there,” the brunet said. “Wasn’t me, but wanna shake their hand later for doing that.”

“Yeah, lucky us.”

Mickey grabbed the lube from his hands and coated two fingers in the viscous substance. He got on his hands and knees before leaning forward on his chest, ass in the air so he could reach behind himself and start prepping his hole in order to be able to take Ian’s cock.

Now this he had done many times before when he masturbated but never with any of the chicks he banged since he didn’t need anyone asking him a bunch of fucking questions. He even had a string of rather large anal beads, thankfully hidden under floorboards in his room where his siblings wouldn’t find them. Mickey was no stranger to exploring his body and trying to figure out what he liked, but to know that big cock was about to fill him to the brim and be on the verge of blowing his load untouched, that was something new. _ Or was it?_

After he’d loosened himself enough to be able to take three of his fingers comfortably, he turned his head from its position on the pillow to gaze back at Ian lustfully. “C’mere and give it to me good and hard, the way I like it.”

_Again...where the fuck did that come from? I’ve never done this before_, _ so how the hell do I even know how I like this at all? Fucking weird...but I’m just going to roll with it so I get some._

Ian hesitated. “Mick...you okay with not using a condom since I don’t have any?”

Mickey got up from his downward position on the bed and looked at him. “Don’t worry. I have a couple of ‘em in my backpack that I didn’t end up using earlier after all. It’s in the living room. Might not be a bad idea since I don’t know where that dick has been.”

“Umm…” Ian sounded embarrassed. “I’m…not sure if those ones will fit me?”

_ He’s got a good point. _“You know what? Fuck it, as long as you’re clean and you’re okay with it. I mean, I always use ‘em and all.”

“Yeah, I’m clean.”

“Then I trust you. Just get on me.”

Mickey got back into position on his hands and knees on the bed, and Ian mounted him from behind and began to push in. He expected it to hurt, but somehow he knew to bear down and relax his muscles to allow Ian’s cock to slip in easily. It felt amazing. “Damn, Gallagher.”

“Fuck. You feel so good.” Ian slowly and cautiously pulled out and pushed back in. “So fucking tight for me.”

“Mmmffpph. Just fuck me. I’m good. Go ahead and pound my ass hard.”

“You sure?”

“Just fuckin’ do it, dammit!”

Ian grabbed his hips and began pounding into him like he’d asked. Mickey buried his face in the pillow, trying not to make too much noise, but it felt way too fucking good. He didn’t want Iggy or Mandy to hear them, even though they weren’t Terry, and even though they all somehow knew he thought Gallagher was hot. He didn’t know how, but they did. Still, he didn’t want to force them to listen to their brother getting nailed in the asshole from the next room.

Mickey thrust back onto Ian, matching every one of Ian’s strokes with his own movement. Ian angled his thrusts to hit the spot inside of Mickey that caused the fingers of his left hand to tighten in the sheets. Meanwhile, he stuffed the knuckles of his right one into his mouth.

“Ohhh, fuuuuuck,” he moaned in ecstasy into his hand.

On one particularly good thrust, Mickey gave up trying to stay quiet, crying out as loudly as he dared when the head of Ian’s cock rubbed firmly against his prostate, sending intense waves of pleasure through his whole body. He reached down between his legs and began stroking his own engorged cock that was bouncing there and begging for more attention.

“_Fuck!” _he groaned, but he was certain by this point that the protests of the mattress squeaking - and the bed frame repeatedly hitting the wall - were probably louder than any sounds they were vocalizing. “So good. Don’t stop!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Ian grunted. “I’m getting close. Where do you want me to finish?”

Mickey considered telling Ian to pull out and give him a facial - _where the fuck did that idea come from?_ \- but was unbelievably turned on by the thought of the redhead filling him with his hot load. “Come inside me. I want it. Shit, I’m getting close, too. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He buried his face into the pillow again to muffle the sounds coming out of his mouth as he reached his orgasm, coming all over both his hand and the sheets below him, shaking with the force of the aftershocks as his internal muscles contracted around Ian’s cock.

“Fucking hell.” Ian’s thrusts became harder and choppier as he got closer to his own climax. “_Fuck_!” He thrust in one last time, bottoming out before shooting hard inside Mickey with a harsh grunt, fingers digging into his hips hard.

Mickey sighed contentedly, knowing this was essentially the definition of getting his brains fucked out. This was fucking amazing, way better than anything he could’ve gotten with Angie or anybody else. He was so relieved now that it hadn’t worked out with her earlier, and satisfied with the knowledge Gallagher was an amazing lay and he’d be wanting more.

If he really stopped to think about it, it was an amazing fuck for it being his first time. He’d taken a pounding and known exactly what he needed from Ian, like their bodies were following a familiar path laid out for them already.

Ian pulled his softening cock out of Mickey, his hole slightly open as some of Ian’s cum leaked out of it and started to run down one of his thighs. Ian got up, grabbed a tissue and handed it to Mickey to wipe himself down. Mickey, still lightheaded from the orgasm he’d just had, sat up and turned to the redhead.

“Damn, Gallagher!” he said. “That was one hell of a good fuck. Gotta do this again.”

As they both started to put their clothes back on, Mickey caught what appeared to be a look of either guilt, regret or sadness on Ian’s face. He didn’t want to see him looking like this, but he didn’t know how to comfort him, either. It was beyond his scope of emotions to extend anything aside from kudos about the sex.

“So...we doing this again?”

Ian was silent for a long while before answering. “Mickey...it was great. Really fucking great. But now I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“About you. Me. Or any of this shit,” said Ian. He gestured to the room around him. “Is any of this bringing anything back to you? The tire iron? The fact that we had our first time right here in this fucking bed, but you don’t know and it isn’t even your fault that you don’t?”

Mickey took a moment to digest this. “You mean we did this before in here?”

Ian looked like he was about to cry. “Yes, Mickey. We did it for the first time here, and so many other times. I wish more than anything that you could remember what we have - _ had_.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, Gallagher. Can’t get all teary-eyed over shit I don’t remember. Now, it’s gettin’ late and after you wearing my ass out, I wanna get some shut-eye. What're you waiting for, a fuckin’ goodnight kiss? Go take your spot on the couch. _Adios_.”

As Ian grabbed the shirt he hadn’t yet put back on and turned to leave, Mickey noticed the redhead was trying very hard to hide his face and not look in his direction. He figured it might be for the better, especially since it seemed par for the course for him to hurt people around him and not have any fucking idea why.


	7. Chapter 7

After Ian returned from the Gallagher house with his extra supplies and helped the Milkoviches go through all of Mickey’s stolen goods, he’d had a brutally honest conversation with Iggy and Mandy. They’d talked about what the stakes were for his and Mickey’s relationship, as well as how much it meant to their future that he be able to remain a loving and supportive boyfriend - thus taking the “thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit” comment Mickey had made so many years ago as seriously as it could be taken.

Ian, who was mentally exhausted, was just about to grab a beer and suggest to Mandy that they find something to watch on Netflix. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when he heard two angry voices - but mostly his boyfriend’s loud mouth - coming from Mickey’s room.

Ian groaned. “Here we fucking go again.”

He told himself to ignore the ruckus and let Iggy and Mickey blow off some steam - until a distinct, commanding voice bellowed, “MANDY!” She smirked at Ian and then decided to find out what had Mickey riled up now.

_ Sweet Jesus, couldn’t they have a fucking break from all the drama? Maybe it was time to call it a day. _

Ian decided to forego the beer and stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, trying to decipher the banter between the Milkovich siblings. It wasn’t exactly hard to hear Mickey, given that he generally _ could _ be heard by all bystanders within a two-mile radius when he got pissed off. Ian was pretty sure that his own name come up more than once. _ Son of a bitch. _It sounded as though Mickey found the pictures they had on the walls of their shared cell in Beckman.

All of this was expected, but Ian was definitely not expecting to hear next, “And shit-for-brains here told me I had a goddamn boner when he put his hands on me!” Footsteps, undoubtedly Iggy’s, scampered away.

So Mickey _ did _ have a hard-on earlier. And Iggy, of all people, had noticed. Ian wasn’t sure if he should burst into another laughing fit, breathe a sigh of relief, or be incredibly turned on because Mickey did still want him, even if his baser instincts were pulling the strings.

Ian groaned in frustration and set his toothbrush back in the cup, realizing he wasn’t going to get any peace regardless of what he decided to do. He bit the bullet and walked back as he heard Mandy trying her best to convince her brother his sexuality was no longer a secret.

“You’re both fuckin’ insane!”

Ian grimaced and decided it would be best to just take the bull by the horns, hoping he wouldn’t regret it. He poked his head into Mickey’s room. “Mickey. Listen to me, please...”

“_Gallagher? _I thought you already left like an hour ago. Get the fuck outta here! Fuckin’ go back to your house and let me think about all of this shit, cuz I can’t deal with it!”

A wave of anger rushed over Ian. He told Mandy earlier that he’d hold his ground if Mickey tried to throw him out. His patience was wearing thin, and he intended to keep his promise to both Mandy and himself. He took another step into the room. _ Enough is enough, _ he decided. _ This ends here, or else nobody in this house is going to get any goddamn sleep tonight._

“NO! I’m not going anywhere! Iggy is right! Mandy is right! I’m sorry you can’t remember, but if would you stop treating me like dirt on your goddamn shoe, that’d be fucking great! I’m trying to _ help _ you, and you do this!”

“Fuck you!” Mickey snarled at him, flecks of spit flying in Ian’s direction.

“No, fuck _ you_!”

Mandy sucked air through her teeth. “Guys, I’m going to leave you to discuss this, _ alone_. I’ll be in the living room with Iggy.”

She not-so-subtly-at-all gave Ian a light push into Mickey’s bedroom and shut the door behind them. _ Well, here it comes. The goddamn gloves are coming off and it’s going to be ugly._

“Fuck off, Gallagher!” Mickey shouted at Ian, who was proud of himself for not giving him an inch. “I told you: I don’t wanna deal with your shit anymore today, and yet your giant freckled ass is still here in my room!”

“Well, too fucking bad! I said I’m not going anywhere and I mean it, Mickey!”

In any other situation, Ian could have anticipated the hard, two-handed shove Mickey gave him and gone toe-to-toe with his boyfriend, but he did nothing to stop it this time. He fell backward onto the bed. The shorter man scrambled on top of him, arm cocked back and about to swing his fist at Ian’s face.

Only...he didn’t. Ian’s eyes grew wide. _ I had to have known this would happen, because this is a carbon copy of a moment I’d need to have dead, ice-cold blood in my veins to ever forget - even if Mickey can’t remember. _The only things missing were the gun, which had long ago been returned to Kash and ironically used to shoot Mickey, and the tire iron, which was presumably somewhere on the floor of the room, having been discovered after eight years. They ought to get the damn thing bronzed.

What certainly wasn't missing was Mickey’s hard-on poking him, exacerbated by the fact that he hadn’t gotten new pants since before he got locked up for the Sammi fiasco: all the pairs in this house were now too tight for Mickey’s liking. Ian, however, liked them a _whole fucking_ _lot_. In fact, _I’m just going to burn any bigger pairs he tries to bring home, because I’m a selfish son of a bitch. And Jesus fucking Christ almighty am I hard as a rock right now._

Ian couldn’t believe Mickey caved first, since he was two seconds away from doing it. 

“_Fuck it!_”

Mickey got up off of Ian and ripped off his shirt like it was on fire, then unzipped and kicked out of his jeans as well. As Ian began to remove his own shirt, the brunet came over to help him out of it. With a facial expression only describable as pure lustful hunger, Mickey’s tattooed fingers ran their way along Ian’s chest, across his pecs to tweak a nipple.

“Mickey…” Ian breathed. This was finally starting to feel like _ them _ again. He wondered if this felt familiar to Mickey too, or was this all purely carnal - the result of a day of mounting sexual tension?

The other man was still wearing his boxers, but Ian was going to tear those off of him in another minute if Mickey didn’t remove the infernal things himself.

In a voice that could have made his cock hard enough to cut diamonds, Mickey ordered Ian to “take off those fuckin’ pants. _Now._”

It would never have occurred to Ian to disobey. He loved how assertive and dominant Mickey was in the bedroom, his power bottom who always told him exactly what he liked and how he wanted it. But now, the most painful thing for Ian was the fact that this was the only discernible part of the adult Mickey left. As gut-wrenching as it was, he forced the thought back.

_ Give me this. Fuck tonight, and fuck tomorrow, just as long as I have now. I don’t fucking care how much it’s going to hurt later._

Blue eyes cast downward to Ian’s painfully hard cock, which was still straining the fabric of his boxers as the red-haired man stood next to the bed. Mickey seemed compelled to show Ian the hard-on he was packing, pulling his boxers down and tossing them to the side to reveal his fully erect cock. He was as turned on now by it as he had been the first time; although Mickey was insecure about it for years because it was smaller than Ian’s, he helped him by showering sincere praise on Mickey, by telling him it was a perfect size and how he loved it.

In the same tough, sexy-as-hell tone, he demanded, “Take those fuckin’ things off, too. Let me see that big fuckin’ cock.”

Ian obeyed, knowing full well Mickey was going to like what he had to offer. The brunet’s eyes unabashedly ogled his cock. “Holy fuck,” he said.

Getting caught up in the moment, Ian let a small smirk appear on his face, and he forgot about the shit of the past week. “Like what you see?” he said coyly, which elicited an excited “Fuck, yeah” from his enthusiastic partner.

Mickey crept across the bed toward where Ian was standing, and wrapped his fingers around Ian’s dick, jerking it a few times before looking up at him. “What do you want, Red? Tell me.” His words dripped with sex.

“You. I wanna fuck you. If you’ll let me.” _ Might as well go all the way, put it out there. The worst he can do is throw me out of his room, but that’s looking highly unlikely._

”Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ let you.”

Hardly believing this was happening, Ian hurried to Mickey’s dresser and opened the top drawer, where he’d placed a tube of lube while Mickey was in the shower. He had no reason to expect Mickey would be in the mood for sex any time soon, but his desire to have his lover again overruled common sense. 

The blue-eyed man gave him a look. “Not sure who put that there. Wasn’t me, but wanna shake their hand later for doing that.”

Ian forced a fake smile. “Yeah, lucky us.”

Mickey grabbed the lube and, after using some of it on his fingers, he got on his hands and knees to start prepping himself.

Ian watched him intently, mouth agape, hands clenched at his sides, the desire to taste Mickey overwhelming him. He wanted more than anything to press his lips against Mickey’s soft skin, to drag his tongue in between those glorious orbs until he made contact with the tight, hot flesh of his lover’s asshole, but he knew to continue letting the brunet call the shots. Ian also knew he needed to play this cool. No tenderness or affection, just straight up fucking, like the first time they’d gone at it in the very same room.

Besides, this was more than Ian could have hoped for, given the events of the past week. Seeing Mickey bent over for him like this, finally accepting there was something between them, had Ian’s cock harder than a teenage boy in a porn shop. Thank fuck he’d jerked off just a few hours ago, or he probably would have come already from sheer anticipation of having his cock buried inside of the man he loved.

Mickey was working himself open with three fingers now, and Ian could just make out the soft moans the brunet probably didn’t realize he was emitting. Ian gripped the base of his cock and gave it a few rough strokes as Mickey turned his head from its position on the pillow to gaze back at Ian lustfully. “C’mere and give it to me good and hard, the way I like it.”

Ian gulped, swallowing a groan Mandy and Iggy surely would have heard. Now was his chance to find out if Mickey had actually banged Angie, or anyone else, that afternoon. His question would be so subtle, Mickey would never know. “You okay with not using a condom since I don’t have any?”

The brunet seemed to think it was a perfectly normal question. Maybe the head injury knocked some sense into him, because they definitely didn’t use condoms when they first started fucking. And of course they didn’t need to now - at least Ian could speak to where and who his dick had been in recently.

“Don’t worry,” Mickey reassured him. “I have a couple of ‘em in my backpack that I didn’t end up being able to use earlier after all. It’s in the living room. Might not be a bad idea since I don’t know where that dick has been, Red.”

_ Thank fuck! _ Ian wanted to kiss him all over his stupid mouth - the universe was finally starting to show signs it wasn’t against him entirely. And now Ian had an opening to remind Mickey, in a not so subtle way, what he had in store for him. “I’m…not sure if those ones will fit me?”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, eyeing the motion of Ian’s hand as he slowly massaged the precum from his leaking slit over his shaft. Ian could tell Mickey didn’t want to delay things any longer by the way he was licking his lips. 

The brunet quickly confirmed Ian was clean. “Then I trust you. Just get on me.”

Ian waited breathlessly, still not believing the scene unfolding in front of him. Mickey was back on his hands and knees, and Ian eagerly mounted him from behind, pushing the tip of his cock deeper and deeper into the older man, feeling the sweetest wave of nostalgia as well as an aching desire to slam his dick into Mickey and pound him relentlessly. 

But he held back, savoring the sensation of every inch of his cock sinking into Mickey’s tight hole, making sure, without saying so, that Mickey was ready for him.

Ian bottomed out and gripped the sides of Mickey’s hips, moving back and forth at a slow pace and absorbing the vibrations from his boyfriend’s low guttural moans, filled by a “Damn, Gallagher.”

“Fuck.” Ian wasn’t sure if he should keep the dirty talk to a minimum, but he couldn’t keep the words from spilling out. “You feel so good. So fucking tight for me.”

Mickey muttered something unintelligible before making his current expectations known. “Just fuck me. I’m good. Go ahead and pound my ass hard.”

Ian looked up at the ceiling and mouthed the words “thank you” to no one in particular. “You sure?”

“Just fuckin’ do it, dammit!”

“You got it, Mick.” Ian grabbed his hips and began pounding into him with total abandonment, inadvertently forcing Mickey’s face into the pillow, which was probably a good thing, considering the volume of his muffled cries. The sounds were driving the redhead wild, knowing the effect he was having on the man who had been denying him for nearly a week. 

Ian knew he wasn’t going to last as long as he would have liked, wishing he could keep doing this longer, feeling the exquisite pleasure of Mickey’s warmth around him forever. This was always perfect, and sex had always been the one thing in their dysfunctional relationship to never let them down over the years.

Meanwhile, the sounds coming from Mickey just added so much more to the experience. He could tell how much pleasure his partner was in and as he hit his spot on each thrust, Mickey was having a harder and harder time staying quiet. By now, he was begging Ian not to stop, all shame gone, not caring how fucking needy and frankly delicious he sounded.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Ian managed in between hard thrusts. He was surprised he’d managed to last this long, the feeling of Mickey all around him, squeezing his dick and fucking massaging it to perfection, too much. “I’m getting close. Where do you want me to finish?”

The response could have caused anyone to blow a load early. “Come inside me. I want it. Shit, I’m getting close, too. I’m gonna come.”

_ Fuck, I was hoping he’d say that. _While he enjoyed coming on Mickey’s face every now and then, or pulling out and stroking himself to completion over Mickey’s lower back or his stomach, there was no better feeling in the world than being able to finish deep inside of him.

Ian thrusted mercilessly at the angle he knew would bring Mickey to climax, hitting his prostate again and again, feeling a surge of pride go straight to his balls as soon as Mickey began shaking uncontrollably and cursing wantonly into the pillow.

“Fucking hell.” The sensation of Mickey’s walls contracting around his cock caused him to finally lose control. “_Fuck!_” Ian thrust in one last time as the orgasm he’d been so desperately craving radiated within him from head to toe, his cum coating Mickey’s walls, filling him up, and Ian’s mind went immediately to how delicious it would be to lick Mickey’s body clean of all their cum. He’d been wanting the taste of his boyfriend on his tongue almost as much as he’d needed to fuck his ass.

But anything extra would have to wait. Ian couldn’t be sure if he’d fucked Mickey’s memory back in place - he knew he was good, but maybe not _that_ good. He knew Mickey had enjoyed himself from the way he’d sighed contentedly, his body pliant and relaxed as Ian pulled his softening cock out. He shuddered at the sight of his release dripping down Mickey’s thigh, and he rose up, knees weak but a euphoria propelling him over to the dresser to grab a tissue for Mickey to clean himself up. 

The brunet accepted the tissue and flipped over onto his side, looking positively fuckable all over again, just from a slight smirk that had formed in the corner of his mouth. “Damn, Gallagher!” he said. “That was one hell of a good fuck. Gotta do this again.”

Ian nodded, too overcome with conflicting emotions to speak. Mickey was clearly pleased by what happened, but didn’t seem any closer to realizing they’d done this hundreds of times before: that they were meant to be together until the end of their days. And Ian began to wonder if this had all been a mistake, a thing he’d provoked out of sheer need without considering how it would really feel to use each other’s bodies like this. Even though it meant so much more to Ian, Mickey just viewed him as a good lay, nothing more.

“So...we doing this again?”

The redhead was still struggling to put his feelings into words that didn’t sound like he was losing his damn mind. “Mickey...it was great. Really fucking great. But now I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“About you. Me. Or any of this shit.” Ian gestured at their surroundings. “Is any of this bringing anything back to you? The tire iron? The fact that we had our first time right here in this fucking bed, but you don’t know and it isn’t even your fault that you don’t?”

Mickey scratched his head. “You mean we did this before in here?”

_ Fuck. Nothing. _ Ian took a deep breath, trying to stave off the tears close to surfacing. “Yes, Mickey. We did it for the first time here, and so many other times. I wish more than anything that you could remember what we have - had.”

“Sorry, Gallagher. Can’t get all teary-eyed over shit I don’t remember. Now, it’s gettin’ late and after you wearing my ass out, I wanna get some shut-eye. What're you waiting for, a fuckin’ goodnight kiss? Go take your spot on the couch. _Adios_.”

Ian couldn’t believe what was unfolding in front of him - Mickey reverting back to his guarded, standoffish, the “I don’t give a shit about the squishy, freckled-faced boy standing in front of me and how much he wants me” self.

A voice inside his head told Ian to take this as progress: even teenager Mickey had thawed over the span of a few days. There was that time he’d arrived on Mickey’s doorstep, his world thrown completely off balance by the reappearance of Monica. The one person he needed to see, and get lost in, was his South Side thug. Mickey had seen it in Ian’s pleading eyes and come to meet up with him at the Kash and Grab as soon as he could get away from being under Terry’s menacing watch.

But for Mickey to order him out of his room like he meant absolutely nothing to him, God, it ripped his insides to shreds. Being connected to Mickey meant being jerked violently from one side to another, like riding the Tilt-A-Whirl nonstop with no end in sight. It dawned on Ian that Mickey could have said the same at many different points in their relationship, but right now, he just wanted to fucking sob into a pillow.

Ian picked up his clothes and got dressed as quickly as possible, refusing to make eye contact with Mickey. He stepped out of his room and was relieved to find the main area of the house quiet and abandoned. He couldn’t face Mandy or Iggy right now, feeling completely defeated and worthless. They had to have overheard most of what happened and were probably expecting some kind of major progress to have been made. But it fucking hadn’t.

* * *

Ian surprised himself by sleeping soundly through the night, which came as a welcome relief since nearly every waking moment for the past week had felt like a nightmare. The hardest part of waking up that Sunday morning was going to be the new reality he had to face, a.k.a. how to handle the awkwardness sure to come from the “developments” from the night before.

The redhead was on the couch, knees bent since he wouldn’t fit otherwise. There was a gust of cold air coming from the front door being opened and closed, he assumed, given that he hadn’t opened his eyes just yet. The clanging of pots and murmured voices coming from the kitchen roused him fully from sleep, and Ian sat up slowly, realizing the muscles in his legs felt strained, probably from how he’d used his entire body to give everything he had to Mickey. His half erect cock twitched from the recent memory. Who the fuck was he kidding to believe he wouldn’t go for another round if Mickey suggested it?

Before getting up, he glanced in the direction of Mickey’s door and noted it was still closed. A half-naked Mickey was probably still asleep on the other side, his face marked with creases from the pillow case and his ass in the air since Mickey often slept in strange contorted positions. He could fall asleep anywhere though, had dozed off more than once in the prison mess hall, and Ian would put his arm around Mickey, holding him against his chest to ensure he didn’t do a face-plant into the mashed potatoes on his dinner tray. Those things were like cement.

Just as he was about to get up to take a leak, Ian heard his name being called.

“Ian! Come in here,” Mandy hissed in his direction, poking her head out of the kitchen and then turning back to give presumably Iggy some sort of direction about how he was flipping the pancakes too soon.

Mandy was probably on pins and needles, waiting for Ian to divulge everything that happened once she left Mickey’s room. But two things had to be obvious: one, that they'd fucked - hell, anyone within a two-mile radius probably heard them; and two, Ian ended up on the couch, so things probably hadn’t ended well.

Ian took his time in the bathroom, brushing each and every tooth not once, but three times before rinsing his mouth and splashing water on his face. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the light stubble on his chin and running up the sides of his face. _ Fuck, maybe I’ll try the rugged look. Seems to be working out for Mickey. Would be one less thing to do._

By the time he was finished in the bathroom, he noticed the light had been turned on over the table where they usually ate and four places were set.

“Morning,” said Ian, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen as Mandy and Iggy plated the pancakes and bacon they’d prepared. It made Ian nostalgic for the Gallagher morning ritual when two or more of his siblings would team up to make breakfast for everyone else.

“Morning!” Mandy responded cheerfully while Iggy gave Ian one of his signature nods. “So…” Mandy was practically humming as she brushed past him with the food and then returned to grab the juice. “Spill. Was it as amazing as it sounded?”

Ian frowned at her comment, long enough that she tried to backtrack. “Uh, not that I was listening. Not on purpose, anyway.”

Iggy backed her up. “Yeah, I heard too, every fuckin’ ‘ooh’ and ‘aah,’ the bed soundin’ like it was gonna crash through the wall, and what I can only assume was the sound of your ball sack slappin' against my brother’s ass.”

“Iggy!” Mandy shrieked, punching his arm.

Ian rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore them both. “Coffee. Need...coffee.” He went straight over to the coffee pot to pour a cup and ready himself for the barrage of questions. _ Time to face the music._

Mandy and Iggy were already eating and making random chit chat about one of the sorry-ass assistant managers who covered the night shift at Mandy’s hotel. Ian sat down and cleared his throat, bravely making eye contact with both of the Milkoviches. “Thanks for making breakfast. Should we get Mickey up?”

Iggy chuckled. “I don’t know. Should we? Kinda surprised you two didn’t bunk together last night.”

Ian took a sip from his cup before responding. “Yeah, well, we fucked, and then he was done with me.” He tried to hide the sheer disappointment hanging over him like a black cloud.

“Guess you gotta hit it harder next time, Gallagher.” 

“Shut up, asshole!” Mandy kicked her brother under the table. “It’s progress, though: right, Ian?” She rubbed his forearm. “Mickey was in complete denial just yesterday about liking dudes.”

“Sure, I guess,” sighed Ian, continuing to nurse his coffee.

A few seconds later, they all turned at the abrupt sound of Mickey’s door opening. He plodded out, shirtless and rubbing his eyes, not fully aware everyone was staring at him.

Ian’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of Mickey, his heart thumping in his chest, just like it always did when Mickey entered a room. He tried to focus on cutting his pancakes and hoped Mickey would keep any snide remarks about last night to himself. 

Mickey passed by them wordlessly and returned a few minutes later with a cup of coffee, yanking the vacant chair out from under the table, the legs scraping against the floor and breaking the silence.

“What? Did somebody fuckin’ die?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he jabbed his fork into the pile of pancakes.

Iggy couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Fuck, Mickey. Knew you had it bad for Gallagher. Heard the two of you fuckin’ like alley cats last night. Kinda makes my heart happy for you!”

Ian cringed, anticipating a surly reaction from the hot-headed brunet, tempted to tell Iggy to shut the fuck up because he wasn’t helping the situation. Mickey threw his fork onto his plate. “The fuck you talkin’ about, bitch? Must be hearin’ shit. Dumbass,” he scoffed.

“You really gonna keep this up?”

Mickey glared at Iggy. “Fuck you! If you’re gonna think I’m gay for Gallagher and shit, go ahead and think that, since you seem to wanna keep on insisting I fuck him in the ass.”

Iggy roared with laughter. “_You _ fuck _ him_? Holy fuckin’ shit!” He stood up, cleared his throat and mimed testing a microphone before speaking in a mocking voice. “Oh, _ Ian! _You feel so fuckin’ good. Give it to me harder! _Harder_!”

Mickey was bright red. He flipped Iggy off, but looked deflated. “Like hell you actually heard any of that shit. And what I may or may not do in the privacy of my own room with the door closed is none of your fuckin’ business.”

Iggy smirked. “Thank you all so much, ladies and gentlemen! I’ll be here all week.”

Mickey seemed to cut his losses and was silent for the rest of breakfast. Ian wasn’t sure what to think about Mickey’s reaction to the taunting: he neither confirmed nor denied what happened between them. He’d need to get his boyfriend alone again to talk about it, if he was willing, but for now, he’d leave him be.

This time yesterday, Mickey was acting like if he even breathed near the redhead, he’d turn him queerer than a football bat. What happened between them the night before was an important step. Ian decided right then and there to consider it a small victory and start to develop his strategy for a full-on assault.


	8. Chapter 8

_ Fuck. H_e knew Iggy was going to give him shit about last night, but what Mickey did to get his rocks off was nobody else’s goddamn business. He called bullshit on Iggy’s claim that they were being that loud, and chalked it up to normal shit out of him. Although, he had to admit that for a first time lay, it was as good as anything he could have imagined. Gallagher had skills.

Thankfully, his shit-for-brains brother finally shut his trap so Mickey could finish his breakfast in peace, but now Mandy was lighting into him about the goods he’d swiped yesterday. Mickey’s back was slumped against the chair, arms folded over his chest, silent for once in his life, though he was growing impatient with yet another goddamn lecture from his sister.

“Why the fuck is this any different from ANY other time any of us have fuckin’ gone out and done shit?” Mickey grumbled. “I go in the hospital for less than a week, and when I come out, everybody in this goddamn family has turned into a motherfuckin’ Boy Scout overnight.”

“Because this time you’re an adult, whether you like it or not, and are on parole. You’re now old enough to move past this kind of stupid shit unless you want to end up like Dad. Is that really what you want for the rest of your life? You claim to be ‘fucked for life,’ but you really aren’t. This is your chance, so don’t blow it.”

Mickey snorted. “This is all fuckin’ weird. Never thought I’d see the day Iggy would have a legal job...although Jamie, Joey and Colin probably ain’t doing anything legal, either, so not sure why I gotta turn into Mister Rogers.” 

“Because unlike them, you have a path to a decent future?” said Mandy. “Things aren’t even close to how they were when we were kids. You have way more at stake than you did then: more than you can comprehend. Assuming you get your memory back, which we aren’t going to entertain the possibility that you won’t, you’ll see why and you’ll be able to get a real shot at the life you deserve. You aren’t a bad guy, Mickey. You do have a real chance.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Only shot I ever got was gettin’ shot at the Kash and Grab, apparently. That and the couple of pieces I got in my room that nobody ditched yet.”

“And we’re going to be getting rid of those, too!” Mandy hissed. “We can’t have anything illegal in this house, or you get sent back to jail! You don’t get how serious this is, Mickey.”

“All right. Jesus. Guess I don’t get it.”

The whole time this was happening, Gallagher just sat there, looking uncomfortable and sneaking glances at him as he picked at the last of his breakfast. Dude thought he was slick, but Mickey noticed how those shiny green eyes were focused on him with laser precision.

_ They must think this is fucking easy. _Waking up in a new reality with people telling you who you are, what you are, and you not knowing what the fuck is going on. For all his life, Mickey had done the best he could with what he’d been given - street smarts, not book smarts, and a father who taught him if he wasn’t cheating, stealing, or fucking somebody up, he wasn’t doing it right.

“Anyway,” continued Mandy, “You’d better be grateful I’ve made arrangements to have someone cover for me at work so I can keep you from doing any more stupid shit. I’m not sure how else I can get it through your thick skull to be more careful. No guns; no drugs; no shoplifting. That has to end here. No more.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes. _ Gee, don’t do me any more fucking favors, little sis. _

Deep down, he knew they all cared about him - even Gallagher, who must have been someone important in his life to stick around through all this - even if they couldn’t understand what Mickey was going through, nor could he let his guard down about any of this shit. No, he’d been taught at a very early age: _swallow your fears; don’t let anybody in. That’s how you fucking survive._

But look at Mandy now, after all the shit Terry had put her through growing up. And even Iggy seemed to be holding down a job. Thank fuck none of them had any kids to fuck up with their questionable gene pool, teeming with criminals and low lifes. This was the cream of the Milkovich crop seated at this table. Plus Gallagher.

“You all right with all this pussy shit, Iggy?”

Iggy shrugged. “I mean, I ain’t gonna sit here and say it was easy for me to change, either. Not like I could just snap my fingers and go clean. Last time I was in the joint, I talked to a dude who knew somebody, and he got me this gig once I got out. Never looked back. They hired a few ex-cons who wanna start over, and maybe I can see if they got room for you.”

“Hey, if Iggy can do it, so can you,” their sister concluded, finally shutting her trap about the goddamn stolen goods.

Mandy suggested they do some shopping, the legal way, and try to have a low-key day together, _ like old times, _she said, and then realized that phrase was virtually meaningless to Mickey. Ian agreed to tag along, looking towards Mickey for approval.

Red was growing on him, but he wasn’t his fucking keeper. “Do whatever the fuck you want,” he’d replied. Gallagher was still looking back at him with those goddamn sappy eyes of his, but now there was something menacing in them, too. _Now that he’s had his way with me, _ chuckled Mickey to himself.

After polishing off another pancake, a shower was in order, but Mickey wasn’t ready to wash away the scent the redhead had marked him with. It was turning him on right now, thinking about the way Gallagher seemed to know exactly what they both wanted and pursued it relentlessly. There would have to be more, despite the guy’s qualms about the complicated nature of their current situation. _ Fucking is fucking. It’s that simple. _

Sighing to himself, he eventually opted to hop in the shower, frowning as he finished washing up and tried to shake the water out of his wet hair. _ This shit takes forever to dry and I look like Frank fucking Gallagher. _

He cast his eyes downward to the hastily-scrawled tattoo on his chest. Mandy had told him Iggy tattooed it on him as a joke. He’d accepted the explanation back at the hospital, but now he wasn’t so sure. Gallagher had claimed that last night wasn’t their first time, and no one was surprised he and Ian banged, not even Iggy. _ Maybe they’re not so full of shit, and there’s more to this than it seems. _

Mickey got out of the shower and studied his reflection for a few more seconds, realizing he had surpassed having just stubble on his face: worse than looking like Frank, he was turning into a full-on hipster with this look. _ Might be time to change things up. I wonder what Gallagher would think. Wait: no, I fucking don’t. _

After brushing his teeth, drying off, and wrapping the towel around his waist, Mickey cracked the bathroom door and peeked outside to get the lay of the land. He didn’t see anyone in the main room, so he figured they were in the kitchen cleaning up or maybe outside having a smoke. _ Thank fuck, _he thought, plodding over time his room, his still damp feet slapping against the hardwood. _ I need some peace and quiet. _

Only he wasn’t going to have it.

“Gallagher? The fuck you doing in my room, bitch?!”

God, that fucker was always underfoot, and he sure had some interesting timing, given that Mickey was practically naked, and fuck if his cock wasn’t twitching at the sight of the redhead staring back at him and looking like he was ready to go again.

“Uh, nothing. Was just, um...trying to find something…” Ian held his hands up innocently and stepped away from the closet. Mickey couldn’t be sure what exactly he’d been doing.

“Uh-huh. Wanna borrow somethin’ to wear? Don’t think it’ll fit your tall motherfuckin’ ass. Shit barely fits me.” Mickey opened his dresser drawer and lifted a stack of pants out, which he then tossed on the bed with a scowl. “Guess I should’ve taken some pants during my little heist yesterday.”

“I guess.” Gallagher shrugged, seemingly uncomfortable with the topic, so Mickey decided to let it go. If he did decide to steal anything again, he sure as shit wouldn’t tell these assholes. 

“So...you gonna leave, or you here to watch?” Mickey wasn’t sure what the dude wanted. If it was fucking, he’d have to wait until later when it wouldn’t be so obvious to his siblings.

“I’ll wait out there, just wanted to see if you were okay. I know this has been really fucking strange...and then last night -”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Mickey was generally suspicious of anyone who was being extra nice to him, but this, coming from Gallagher, felt sincere. “Kinda tired of bein’ confused, you know, and uh, saying shit that seems to -”

“Hurry up, losers!” A voice called out. Mickey was actually relieved, unsure as to why he was opening up to Gallagher when it was his custom to keep all of his thoughts to himself. Mickey nodded towards the door, and Ian took the hint. He would have told the guy to get the fuck out, but he decided not to crush the poor bastard’s soul so early in the day.

“Hey, Gallagher!” Mickey called out as Ian was about to step out the door.

“Yeah?”

“You think my hair would look better short?”

Ian relaxed his expression, presumably having steeled himself for god-knows-what smartass comment was going to come out of the brunet’s mouth. “Oh, uh...I like it either way.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Figured you’d say that.”

* * *

Iggy opted to stay home and “clean up,” which was code for “jerk off to porn without the chance of being caught.” Right before the other three were walking out the front door, he made a point of telling Mickey to get some pants that actually fit him.

“Gotta have room for your Gallagher boners,” Iggy threw in for good measure as his younger brother gave him the finger and slammed the door behind them. He needed to get some dirt on the motherfucker and rub his goddamn face in it.

Mickey was pretty damn sure he saw Gallagher smirking about that last dig from Iggy. He was about to say something when Mandy ushered him over to the passenger side of her car. “Let’s go. We need to have some _fun_, remember. We’re supposed to chill the fuck out today.”

“Yeah, we should do something to take our minds off of all the stuff at the house and…” Ian started to say as he fastened his seatbelt. 

“Babysitting my ass?” interjected Mickey with a tone of annoyance. “Thanks a lot. Think I’m gonna need a drink or six after bein’ held hostage by you assholes. Let’s go out and get wasted or some shit.”

By now, Mandy was pulling out of the driveway, but Mickey suspected she would have knocked him upside his head if she had two free hands to do it. “Jesus, you do need a fucking drink.”

“Fuck off,” mumbled Mickey, leaning back into his seat, silently. Once they got out of their neighborhood, he started to watch the storefronts and office buildings whizzing by. He wondered where they were going, but figured it wouldn’t be the same place he’d gone yesterday. 

After he pointed this out, Mandy turned to frown at her brother before focusing her eyes back on the road. “No shit, Sherlock. You may have gotten away, but we still don’t know if they’ll remember you.”

A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a Target, and Mandy cautioned her brother to stay close while Ian nodded in agreement. Mickey, annoyed that his sister and Gallagher were opting to treat him like a child, shuffled into the store behind them. He cast his gaze around the place, quietly thinking about what he’d easily be able to lift if his babysitters weren’t with him. _ Maybe I’ll come back when they’re not here. _

As if right on cue, Ian seemed to know what was on his mind. He hissed in Mickey’s ear, “Don’t fucking _ think _ about it. We are going to follow you everywhere in here. You do it again and get caught, we _ all _ get in trouble.”

Grumbling, Mickey walked over to a display of jeans. “Don’t even know what size I wear. Probably from a lifetime of always getting Iggy’s hand-me-downs, least until he turned into a giant with long-ass legs. Go figure.”

“We’ve got all day,” Mandy answered him. “Grab a few different sizes and see what might work. Bear in mind you don’t necessarily _ want _ huge, baggy pants since you’re not a hoodrat teenager anymore. The ones you’re wearing aren’t really that small on you by most standards, they just aren’t falling off your ass.”

Mickey distinctly heard Ian snicker behind him, and he whirled around to glare. “The fuck is so goddamn funny, Gallagher?”

“Nothing, Mickey. Don’t worry about it.”

Once he’d grabbed a few pairs to his liking, Ian and Mandy followed him to the men’s dressing room area. Ian turned to Mandy. “You want to see if there’s anything else here you need? I’ll stay with Mickey.” She nodded before adjusting her purse on her shoulder and walking over to the women’s accessories.

“Well, let’s blow this fuckin’ popsicle stand and all,” Mickey said. “You don’t gotta follow me into the dressing room or anything.”

“Uh...yeah, I do.”

“Can’t fuckin’ fit these underneath the ones I’m wearing even if I wanted to.”

Ian clapped a hand over his mouth. “_Keep your fucking voice down!” _

“Relax, Gallagher. I was just fuckin’ with you.”

“Bullshit. Go in there and try them on before we leave without buying you shit.”

“Fine.” He entered one of the rooms and closed the door, started to undress and stepped into the new pair of jeans. _ Not bad. _ New, nice clothing was a rare commodity growing up, and Mandy had already offered to pay for this shopping trip, so it wasn’t like _ he _ was buying. And Ian’s ungrateful ass, after initially expressing interest, ended up refusing to take any of the shirts Mickey lifted yesterday and offered to him. _ More free shit for myself, _ he figured.

Just then, a crazy thought came to his mind. _Wonder__ if Gallagher would be down for fucking here. Kind of sounds like a rush with all of these soccer moms around. Bet they’d all be horrified by a couple of homos messing around. _

He opened the door again. “Hey, Gallagher!”

Ian, who was sitting on the bench nearby, stood up and walked over to the room where Mickey was standing. “Yeah?”

“C’mere.”

Ian’s eyes widened, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly. He approached the dressing room cautiously. “You mean…”

“Want me to draw you a fuckin’ diagram? I don’t wanna play Yahtzee in here.”

The redhead looked like a feather could have knocked him over as he slid into the room and closed the door. “Jesus, Mick.”

Mickey looked up at Ian and their eyes met. “You gave my ass a hell of a workout last night with your dick, but now I wanna see what your mouth can do to mine. Get on it, Gallagher.”

By now, the shock on Ian’s face had turned into an expression of unmistakable lust and desire. Ian said, “Fuck, yeah. I’ll suck you off. Just...you want to stand or sit in here?”

Mickey took the small chair inside the fitting room and placed it against the door, blocking the view of their feet from the underside of the flimsy door. “Problem solved. Now get on it, bitch.”

Ian backed Mickey toward the chair and pulled off the jeans he was wearing, the redhead’s hand groping the tent in the brunet’s boxers. Mickey slumped back into the seat as Ian fussed with the waistband and pulled out his cock.

Mickey sighed in relief as the tension from the material covering it was removed, then bit back a gasp as Ian’s warm, wet tongue traced the head, already leaking pre-cum, licking up the clear strand. He jerked it a few times before teasing the underside of the head and swallowing Mickey down. “Goddamn,” he said under his breath. “That feels so fuckin’ good.”

Ian pulled off and smirked at him. “It better, since I know exactly what you like and how I can get you to scream for me. Too bad you can’t do that in here and all,” he said, just loudly enough for Mickey to hear him.

“Shut up and suck it.” If all the things they’d been telling Mickey were true, Gallagher would know exactly what he liked.

Wordlessly, Ian went back to what he was doing, hollowing his cheeks and opening his throat to take Mickey’s cock to its base, repeating the motion until Mickey’s fingers were tangling tightly in Ian’s red locks and he was biting into the back of his hand in an effort to keep quiet. He could remember a few chicks who’d sucked him off, but this felt different. Better. Fucking amazing.

Just then, they heard footsteps approaching. “Fuck!” Mickey said. Ian’s eyes grew wide, Mickey’s cock still in his mouth as he looked up at his partner. They stayed still as the person approached and entered the adjacent fitting room. Mickey didn’t dare move an inch.

He pulled at Ian’s hair to get up, but the redhead didn’t budge. Mickey would have killed him over the absurdity of the situation if it didn’t feel so good. _ The bastard didn’t stop what he was doing. _ There was someone in full earshot of them, who could potentially discover them, and damn it all if this wasn’t hot as fuck. _ Holy shit. _

Mickey’s fingers ruffled through Ian’s hair as he took a deep breath. He bit his lip and exhaled heavily through his nose as he felt Ian swallow around his cock, amazingly warm and wet. He hoped the dude in the next room would hurry the fuck up, since there was no way in hell he could stay silent when he came.

He thanked whatever deity he didn’t worship when the unknown guy finished with whatever stupid fucking item of clothing he was trying on, and left. It was just in time, as well.

Mickey couldn’t hold off any longer. “Fuck, I’m gonna…” His fingers grabbed Ian’s hair so tightly, it had to have been hurting him, but the redhead didn’t seem to care. “Shit...” He grunted as he came hard, Ian swallowing all of his release. “Holy fuck!”

Presumably knowing he’d be sensitive, Ian pulled off of Mickey’s softening cock and stood up. “You like?” He had a huge shit-eating grin on his face. _ The smug, arrogant bastard. _

Still, he couldn’t hold back his praise. “Holy fuck. That was incredible.”

Ian just kept grinning at him. “You owe me one later.”

“I’m sure you fuckin’ do.” The nerve of this guy. _ You owe me one. The fuck I do_.

Gallagher left him to it, and Mickey slowly came to his senses, trying on another pair of jeans with a seemingly better fit than what he’d walked in with. 

_ Fucking Gallagher. _ His mind drifted back to that smile of his. It was wider than ever. It was apparently also infectious, Mickey realized, because he noticed a complete stranger staring back at him in the dressing room mirror: someone who just might have been happy at one point in his life, even for a fleeting moment. 

When they exited the dressing rooms, Mickey placed the unwanted pairs of pants on the rack, near where Mandy was hovering over them with a simultaneously annoyed and bemused expression on her face. “Why am I not the least bit surprised? I mean, whatever, but when I said we had all day, I guess I meant it.”

Mickey flipped her off. “Got the pants you said you were gonna buy for me, so let’s get a move on and skedaddle. Don’t wanna stand around here with my dick hangin’ out.”

Ian snickered. “I think it’s too late.” Mickey ignored him.

They went to the register and paid, Mandy also having found a few items for herself. As they were driving back home, they passed by the baseball field where Mickey had played briefly on a Little League team when he was younger. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. “Hey,” he told Ian. “Know that shit you told me earlier about owin’ you one? Got an idea for how we’re gonna do it.”

* * *

When the trio arrived home, their eyes widened in shock and horror as the first thing they noticed was that the living room was filled with smoke. Sure enough, it wasn’t hard to find the source of the problem. They went in the kitchen to discover Iggy in front of the oven, trying fruitlessly to fan away the clouds, the stench of burnt food heavy in the air. Ian took a whiff of it.

“Jesus, Iggy! We leave you alone in here for one morning and you do this shit?” Ian said.

“Shut up,” Iggy shot back. “I was makin’ pizza logs for all of us to eat for lunch since Mandy texted me you guys were almost done shoppin’, and I just forgot all about ‘em.”

“The fuck were you doing? Sitting with your dick in your hand and looking at porn on your phone?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“Guess that’s a ‘yes.’”

Mandy rolled her eyes, grabbed some oven mitts and pulled the charred tray of food out of the oven. “What temperature did you have this thing set to for them to burn this fast?”

“You’re askin’ me? Fuck if I know!”

“Goddamn it, Iggy!” Mickey cursed. “Not like we have a fuckin’ smoke alarm in this shithole or anything. Place would’ve burned right to the fuckin’ ground, and nobody would’ve noticed or cared. Might call it an improvement.”

Iggy sighed. “Since you fucks all seem to be real hellbent on makin’ me out to be the asshole here, I can order Chinese takeout and pick it all up for us after I grab some gas. What do you guys all want from there?”

Mickey threw the tray into the sink and began the task of scrubbing it with a Brillo pad, cursing his brother’s incompetency. As he was doing so, his hair fell in his eyes. _ Enough is enough_.

“Hey, Mandy!” Mickey called to his sister.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna help me get this mop off my head?”

Five minutes later, Mickey was sitting on a chair in the bathroom, Mandy hovering over her brother’s wet hair with a pair of scissors. _ Thank fuck, _ he thought to himself. _ Guess I also need to shave after this. About time. _

Mickey’s mind wandered back to the possibility of hooking up with Gallagher at the baseball field, more specifically, the dugouts. He’d done everything else there - smoked weed, gotten wasted - in remembrance of that goddamn Little League commissioner who kicked him off the team for pissing on first base. _ I’ll really show him this time, _ he thought, a smirk starting to form on his face, _ and get off, too. _

His mind then turned to the mess still in his room. He’d mostly - _ mostly _ \- managed to clean it up, but there was still some shit out of order. Mickey remembered seeing the Glock and the Ruger lying on the floor of his room, pulled out from wherever he’d had them, in some storage box. Then there was the goddamn porn he must have had at some point. And the tire iron Gallagher had been holding.

_ There’s something about that tire iron. What is it? Why can’t I remember? I remember lying on my back and someone poking me awake with it. What more is there? I can’t... _

As the stray hairs kept falling around his eyes, a startlingly sharp image, much like the one he’d had while inside the Kash and Grab, popped into his head. He tried to make sense of it.

_ He was lying face down on his bed, which was in the spot against the back wall where it had been before someone - he wasn’t sure who it was - moved it to the center of the bedroom, where it currently was now. He’d been jerked out of a dream, possibly one where his life maybe wasn’t a shit show and his family wasn’t a bunch of thugs and criminals, people with an actual, real future destined to go places. It was a poke right on his spine with hard metal. _

_ What the fuck?! _

_“I want the gun back, Mickey!”_

_ He looked up from where he was lying face down on the bed, groggy, to see the annoying-ass redhead standing over him - all freckle-faced and skinny, in his own bedroom, interrupting his nap. The nerve of that asshole! More shockingly, in his right hand was...a tire iron. _

_“Gallagher?!” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Mandy wasn’t here, and she’s the only one who would have let him in. If Mandy didn’t let him in, then it only means he must have come in here all by himself, looking for... _

_“The gun!”_

Gallagher was so annoyingly persistent, asking again for some gun he’d allegedly had. What gun? He’d been raised around so many of them, it could have been almost anything.

“Ta-da!” Mandy exclaimed, and Mickey put the strange memory of Gallagher on the back burner. He checked out his hair in the mirror. “Better.“

Iggy arrived back home with the food. They dug in and ate quietly, not really finding any need to participate in further conversation. Ian mumbled something about what a nice job Mandy had done with the haircut, but he mostly looked lost in his own head.

After finishing his food, Mickey retreated into the bathroom to shave. He thought about the latest suspicions involving the tire iron, and knowing now it had been _ Gallagher _ who’d poked him awake. It seemed to fit what all of these jackasses had been saying about Ian and him having an ongoing _ whatever_.

Mickey finished shaving and bent over into the sink to rinse the shaving cream off his face before checking out his reflection. He thought he looked more like how he’d remembered, but still like he’d been put through the ringer. At least now he knew Gallagher had been in his house at some point, probably around the time Mandy had decided Ian didn’t want to fuck her after all. He paused, considering how it was that two of the memories he’d managed to drudge up both involved a gun of some sort.

_ I wonder if there’s any connection. Could always just ask Gallagher later on. Hopefully he’ll be down to pay a visit to the dugouts tonight after dark. Going to be cold as fuck, but I think I know how we can keep warm. _


	9. Chapter 9

After lunch, they watched a couple of movies and Mandy surprised everyone with a purchase she’d made that morning in secret, probably while Ian and Mickey were preoccupied in the dressing room. She’s bought a Nintendo Switch and a couple of games she figured they all could enjoy: ones not dependent on whether their bootlegged WiFi worked or not.

Iggy and Mickey decided to battle it out in _ Mario Kart 8_, with all of the appropriate trash talking included, while Ian and Mandy worked on dinner: a simple meal of spaghetti and garlic bread. It was nice to have time alone with his best friend, though their conversations seemed to revolve mostly around Mickey these days.

“Looks like you’re making progress,” Mandy said, nudging her hip against Ian’s as they stood near the stove, Ian in charge of the sauce and Mandy the noodles. “Maybe he's starting to come around.”

“Or maybe he’s just horny,” replied Ian, hoping that wasn’t completely true. 

He was beginning to see fissures and cracks in Mickey’s hardcore demeanor, and it reminded him of the same trajectory from when they’d grown closer years ago, slowly but surely. First came the physical connection which, apparently, judging from the activity in the past two days, was undeniable. Then came Mickey letting down his guard more and more, allowing the redhead to infiltrate his world beyond fucking him into oblivion. It meant giving a fuck about what was going on in each other’s lives. 

At least when Ian recently asked Mickey how he was doing, he hadn’t told him to “fuck off” or questioned his motives. And Ian was relieved Mickey hadn’t pressed him on why he was standing in front of his closet. He would have thrown him out on the spot if he’d caught him pressing his face into a few of Mickey’s old shirts, breathing into the fabric, seeking a familiar scent, some trace of his boyfriend from the time they’d lived together in that very room, back when Mickey was trying so devotedly to care for him. It was years in the making for Mickey to become his outright protector.

He’d taken care of him at Beckman, too, had his back. Sure they’d driven each other insane, but they’d also kept each other grounded. Ironically, they’d had all the time in the world in prison but no idea how to use it to their advantage. Hell, they should have fucking cherished it instead of bickering so damn much.

“I just thought of something,” Ian told Mandy. “It’s weird, but I don’t think I ever told you much about our earliest time together, back when Mickey and I first started hooking up. I’m sorry I never was able to talk to you about it, but I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“It’s okay,” Mandy answered. “You came out to me after that weird shit between the two of us got cleared up. It was your story to tell, but Mickey’s story wasn’t yours. I know now that mu brother wasn’t ready to come out then. And I don’t blame him.”

“Yeah, well, it might be awhile before he comes out again,” remarked Ian. _ Hell, if he would just come out to me, that would be some progress. _

Mandy went to set the table, and Ian’s thoughts turned to a Mickey he’d become very familiar with over the years: the Mickey who would get a gleam in his eye, which would lead to some wild-haired notion about fucking in some random-ass place, like a dressing room. It had been so fucking sexy, so unexpected when Mickey summoned him into the dressing room that morning. 

Any physical contact between him and Mickey was worth it, but knowing how he ticked, Ian was going to need pace himself with the touching and caressing and kissing. He would have to let Mickey come around, no matter how much he wanted to show the brunet the depth of his affections. It seemed as though slowly but surely, Mickey was becoming more accepting that there was, indeed, an entire reality he didn’t realize existed. Ian had to take things slowly to avoid freaking him out.

“I need some air, Mands. The sauce needs to simmer a few minutes anyway. Can I bum a cigarette?” 

“Sure. But I thought you’d quit.”

“Had a craving all of a sudden,” Ian explained, pulling a cigarette from the packet Mandy offered him. He stepped out onto the side porch, lit the cigarette, and took a slow drag, letting his mind wander back to thoughts of him and Mickey. 

Ian had to remind himself about the adolescent thug whom he’d had to convince over time that sex between them could be more than Ian whipping it out and pounding Mickey’s ass. There were other ways they could touch each other: more intimate, uncharted territory on each other’s bodies that could be explored. Ian thought back to how much restraint he’d had to use in those early days of their relationship whenever Mickey was underneath him or even near him. _ Don’t touch the merchandise_, was his ongoing mantra.

Around the time Mickey got out of juvie - after the shooting incident with Kash, but before Frank caught the two of them fucking in the back of the store - Mickey had begun to allow Ian into his world. It was not just sexually, but also things he thought most people wouldn’t give a shit about. Maybe they wouldn’t have, but Ian did. Ian listened. Ian cared. 

Afternoons at the Kash and Grab while Mickey did security and Ian worked the register were the highlight of those days for sure, and he assumed the same was true for Mickey. They’d have it again. 

Ian could hear Mandy calling Iggy and Mickey for dinner. He finished his cigarette, came back in from outside and snuck into the bathroom to leave a message for Dr. Peterson. He wanted to get her professional opinion on Mickey’s progress, the approach they were taking, and what else they could do. His call went straight to voicemail.

“Hi, Dr. Peterson,” Ian said after the beep, figuring she wouldn’t be available on a Sunday, though she’d given him her personal cell number. “This is Ian Gallagher. I was just calling to let you know what’s been going on with Mickey. He still doesn’t remember much, but we’ve gotten small bits coming back, like loose puzzle pieces he can’t fit into the larger picture.”

After leaving his number and hanging up, Ian had half a notion to call and set up an appointment with his shrink as well, knowing he could be at risk of all these external stressors building up and knocking him down on his ass before he had time to get in front of it. Ian thought back on the promises he’d made to Mickey in Beckman to take care of himself if he felt like things were spiraling out of control, and to talk it out if he felt it was too much. However, he hoped they were past the worst of all that.

As they sat down to dinner, Mickey and Iggy were still arguing over what had happened in their last Grand Prix race in _ Mario Kart_.

“Would’ve won the last race had you not hit me with that motherfuckin’ blue shell when I was two seconds from the finish line,” Iggy complained.

“Sucks to suck, bitch. That’s what happens when you’re in first place the entire time, and you know what? You can kiss my ass. You wiped me out with _ your _ shit how many times?”

Ian smiled, liking the fact that they were able to talk about something as simple as video games. He was grateful to Mandy that she decided to buy the gaming console, if for no other reason than the distraction it seemed to provide Mickey. It was essentially a reprieve from the reality of having to deal with Mickey’s memory loss.

“Okay, that’s all well and good,” Ian spoke up. “But for now, I think it’s time we make a plan for this week since you guys are going back to work. I still have to talk to...uh, you know, _ some people..._about a job opportunity.”

Ian stopped himself from saying “Kev and V.” He’d considered going over to the Alibi after dinner to see about starting to work for them, since he had some experience bartending when he filled in at the Fairy Tail, and he knew all of the Alibi regulars. Even so, he felt it was a bad idea to go into details in front of Mickey. He couldn’t take Mickey with him to the bar - not yet - not with the possibility of Tommy or Kermit, or even Kev opening their big mouths about shit from the past and throwing Mickey for a loop.

_ I should give them a heads up and explain the situation, see if they can try to keep their traps shut when Mickey comes around. _

_  
_At this stage in the game, any talk of the Rub and Tug, Svetlana and Yev, or even about Mickey being gay would be ill-advised. These things had to happen gradually. When push came to shove, even Ian would have preferred to pretend some of the events from the past weren’t part of their history at all.

“Anyway, as far as a plan, I’ll stay over here, since I know you both have to go to work,” declared Ian in between bites of his garlic bread.

“Yeah, I have to go back tomorrow,” Mandy said. “And Iggy, you ought to try convincing your boss to give Mickey a job.”

“I’m right fuckin’ here, you know,” the dark-haired man protested, waving his hand.

Even so, it was easier now to have these kinds of conversations with Mickey present, instead of hovering in a corner, whispering about what they should do for him. This was true, even if the topic of Kev and V was off-limits for now. 

Ian decided to wait on the Alibi until tomorrow, preferably early in the day before it got busy with the happy hour rush. He considered inviting Liam over to play games on the Switch with Iggy and Mickey, but then remembered he was really curious about what Mickey was alluding to when he’d mentioned reciprocating for the blowjob in the dressing room earlier.

After finishing dinner, everyone piled into the living room. Having dumped the dirty dishes in the sink, which was Mickey’s big contribution towards the housework, the brunet disappeared into his bedroom for a few minutes before emerging with his backpack and a menacing smile. Walking behind the couch where everyone was seated, he whispered something just loudly enough for Ian to hear him.

“Gallagher. Come with me,” Mickey said, nodding towards the kitchen. Ian followed him immediately, giving Mandy a sideways glance as she shot back a thumbs-up.

“What’s up?” Ian asked, trying to contain his excitement over the fact that Mickey seemed to be initiating something for the two of them. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” the brunet replied, opening up the fridge to pull out a few beers he'd chucked into his pack.

“Wait, Mick. You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” Ian frowned at him.

“Like what?” Mickey asked defensively, rolling his eyes at the question and pausing by the side door. “You comin’ or not, Negative Nancy?”

“Yeah, okay.” Mickey didn’t have to ask twice. Fuck, Ian was pretty much up for anything if Mickey was inviting him to tag along. “Let’s just tell Mandy and Iggy.”

“I got this.” Mickey cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled into the next room, “We’re goin’ out to crack some skulls, don’t wait up!”

Ian laughed. “I need my coat. It’s got to be cold as balls out there by now.”

“Good idea. Get mine. Meet you out front.”

The redhead nodded and grabbed their coats, turning to wave to Mandy and Iggy, an obvious spring in his step which he tried to shake away before Mickey saw his unbridled enthusiasm and decided to call the whole thing off.

_ Play it cool, Gallagher. Don’t fuck this up, _ he told himself as he met Mickey outside and handed him his coat. Ian didn’t ask any questions, just walked silently along side of him, sneaking quick glances at the brunet, whose lips were nursing a cigarette as he puffed a mix of smoke and cold air into the night sky. 

It was stupid for Ian to be thinking about such things, given their circumstances, but he wondered what would have happened if Mickey hadn’t injured his head and they were both out of prison, taking a stroll through the neighborhood. Would he pull away if Ian tried to hold his hand? He sure as fuck wouldn’t dream about doing it now, but a part of Ian wanted to believe it was a possibility for one day: to let everyone know they were together and not give a fuck about what anyone had to say about it. 

It didn’t even have to be holding hands. Ian just wanted the option of being able to show his boyfriend affection, and for Mickey to not recoil or feel embarrassed. He figured they’d pretty much gotten past that after Mickey came out, but the opportunity to be a “normal” couple hadn’t exactly presented itself beyond the walls of Beckman, if you could call that “being a normal couple.” 

_ God, sometimes I’d like to turn my damn mind off. I’m getting way ahead of myself here. _ Ian focused his eyes on the light posts at the next block and the tattered signs people had taped up advertising guitar lessons, a rock show from a few weeks ago, and a missing cat.

“You ever banged in a dressing room before, Red?” asked a voice that seemed to have come out of nowhere. For a second, Ian thought he might be hearing things, so he didn’t respond, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes focused on everything but Mickey.

“Ian?”

Oh, he was definitely hearing things. It had been over a week now since Mickey had used his actual name. The last time was during a phone conversation they’d had the afternoon before Mickey’s fall, but it seemed like years ago. The possibility of this current Mickey seeing him as a person, rather than just a hair color, hit his chest like a ton of bricks.

“Did you hear me, Gallagher?” Now the voice was impatient, no touch of warmth this time.

“Oh, uh...sorry, Mick. What did you say?”

“Look, we don’t gotta talk. Just tryin' to kill some time. I know I haven’t been real chatty lately…”

“Or ever,” muttered Ian, while simultaneously wishing he hadn’t said a word. That wasn’t true of the Mickey before the head injury, but the fuck if he could remember who he was talking to at this point.

“Speak up, mumbles!”

Ian stopped abruptly in his tracks and held up his arm in front of Mickey. “Tell me what you asked me before.”

Mickey, as expected, shoved Ian’s hand away. “I said, ‘Have you ever banged in a dressing room?’”

They started walking again, destination still unknown to Ian, an inexplicable tension between them. The younger man eventually replied, “No, I guess I haven’t.” 

_ But I’ve banged in a bunch of other places, most of them with you. The dugouts, the bleachers, the bathroom stalls at the Fairy Tail, the docks, the back seat of many a car, the front seat of many a car. Then there was the one time I fucked you in the showers at Beckman when you made arrangements for us to have the entire bathroom to ourselves. _

“Fine. Then where?” Mickey asked.

“That’s the kind of stuff I would tell my boyfriend about, not some random dude,” Ian scoffed, deciding to give Mickey some shit and hoping it wouldn’t backfire.

“Fuckin’ _ boyfriend._ You sound so fuckin’ gay.”

“That’s because I fucking am!” _ And so are you, dumbass. _

Mickey retorted, “Anyway, you seemed to like puttin’ your warm mouth on this _ random dude _ earlier today.”

Ian felt his dick twitch, hearing the emphasis Mickey put on the words ‘warm mouth.’

“And it wasn’t the first time I did it, either. But yeah, you seemed to enjoyed it a whole lot, too.”

“Maybe I did,” Mickey agreed. “Anyway, speakin’ of first times, here we are. I wanna have my first time fuckin’ outside be right here, if you’re up for it and all.”

Ian’s eyes began to grow wide, realizing Mickey had led them within a block of the baseball field where they once played in Little League together, unbeknownst to either of them that their destinies would lead them back here again and again, but not for baseball. It was practically sacred grounds in the grand scene of their oft-challenged relationship, and Ian was now certain about what the brutish thug had in mind when he’d suggested a walk. 

“Mick…” he breathed, which came out more like a whisper the brunet couldn’t possibly have heard.

“C’mon, Gallagher. Thought we could have a few beers over in the dugouts.” He cocked his head toward the fenced-off field in the near distance, a devilish smirk spreading across his lips as he spoke his next words. “See what happens after that.”

“Y-yeah...okay.” Ian felt an oddly crippling surge of nostalgia. There was a nagging sensation that hit Ian: like they were about to rewrite their history but cheapen it in some way since Mickey couldn’t fully comprehend what this place meant to both of them. But then, Ian reminded himself Mickey was the one instigating this whole thing, and it rang true to the way things happened years ago, the same day when Ian had tagged along with Mandy to bring Mickey home from juvie.

* * *

_Mickey had never really looked boyish, per se, but whatever adolescent youthfulness he’d carried with him to juvie was gone now. He looked like a man, in the full sense of the word, strutting away from the detention center, biceps for miles and a sneer resting in the corner of his mouth, one he’d never be able to shake: like he had a permanent distaste for anything and everything the world had to offer, but he’d have to take what was put in front of him. _

_ And Ian was willing to give him everything. Sure, Mickey didn’t have anything romantic to say at the sight of the eager redhead, or even remotely kind, but he hadn’t outright rejected him hanging around. They’d gone back to the Milkovich house where Ian and Mandy had pizza rolls and hot wings warming in the oven, along with a tray of pastrami sandwiches and potato chips. Terry was passed out somewhere in the house, which was the perfect way for him to welcome Mickey home. He wouldn’t be up until much later, long after Mickey told Ian to make up an excuse about having to leave and to meet him outside the Kash and Grab. _

_ “Don’t get too excited, Gallagher. Just gonna hang...or whatever you wanna call it.” _

_ Then Ian knew. Mickey still wanted him, at the very least as a fuck buddy, but hopefully more. He’d have to play his cards wisely, and not blurt out the thoughts running through his mind as Mickey led them somewhere into the night: I waited for you, Mickey; I didn’t fuck anyone else; I didn’t want to; no one else fucking matters - because he knew this would be met with the object of his affection giving him a swift kick to the gut and running the other way. _

_ They’d ended up at the dugouts, Mickey asking Ian what he’d been up to, probably his attempt at trying to make this less about getting his rocks off, and more about reciprocating the best way he could with the freckle-faced boy who had stuck around and didn’t seem to want anything other than the pleasure of his company. _

_ “So, I'm taking geometry, Algebra 2, trigonometry, chemistry,” Ian had said back. _

_ “During the summer?” _

_ “Trying to get into West Point.” _

_ “If you want the Army to give you a fuckin’ gun, all you gotta_ _ do is enlist. Recruiting station’s, like, two blocks that way.” _

_ “I want to be an officer.” _

_ “Wanna be an officer, huh? Don't officers get shot first?” _

_ From there, Mickey told Ian to cut the chit-chat and get on him. It had already been too long since they’d had a go at one another. Ian assumed Mickey fucked other guys while he’d been away, but didn’t bother asking or caring. Thank fuck Ian had jammed a couple of packets of lube in his wallet that morning. _

_ “Your spit ain’t worth a damn, Gallagher,” Mickey growled, after cutting their conversation short and trying his damndest to appear like he wasn’t ready to beg Ian for it, though his pants and boxers were already down around his knees. “Monster that you are.”_

_ Ian chuckled at his comment, floored by this whole situation, at his good fortune, at Mickey so eager and already spread out for him. “I know, Mick.” He dangled the packet of lube in front of Mickey’s face, ready to rip it open and work it into his partner, prepping him slowly and with care. He wanted to, anyway, but Mickey would demand he hurry the fuck up._

_ Ian pushed a generous amount of lube inside Mickey with one finger, biting his lower lip to keep from gasping at how tight Mickey was, anticipating what it would feel like to fill him up with his cock. There was nothing like it, nothing better than witnessing Mickey Milkovich shudder and writhe beneath his thrusts, yielding to him, letting Ian have control for once, trusting him completely to give Mickey exactly what he wanted: and not just once that evening, but twice._

* * *

And then it continued, several more times that summer: as much as either of them wanted, in as many places as they dared. Something had shifted in their relationship. Mickey was his unspoken “somebody,” and Ian, in turn, was his: as much as Mickey could belong to anyone, or wanted to belong to anyone. 

Sadly, everything came to a screeching halt the day Frank caught them together in the storage room of the Kash and Grab, their secret no longer safe: Mickey’s secret, actually, as Ian would have let everyone in Chicago know he had claims on Mickey.

But those were memories for another day and time. For now, Mickey brought them back here to the dugouts, subconsciously or not. And like before, Ian had two packets of lube tucked safely in his wallet. Knowing Mickey wouldn’t be able to appreciate the parallels between then and now, he decided to just see where this outing was going to take them.

“You remember that time back in Little League?” Mickey asked. “Fuckin’ hell. I mean, not that I ever really gave a shit about baseball. It was just another reason to not have to be home.”

“It wasn’t bad,” recalled Ian. “I mean, considering I’d always wanted to go into the Army and all, being part of a team was something I was kind of going to have to get used to.”

“Yeah...so…” Mickey looked like he wasn’t sure how to start asking the question, but seemed to show more sensitivity than he had with other similar things he’d said in the last week. “You end up makin’ it there? How’d you do and all?”

_ Here we go. _Ian decided honesty would be the best policy, but there was a fine line between telling the truth and burying Mickey under an avalanche of unpleasant truths he was in no state to understand.

“I enlisted. It didn’t end up working out for me, though,” Ian eventually said. “I had medical reasons that affected my ability to serve, and they let me go.”

_It's close enough to the truth. _From everything he’d read online, mental illness with psychotic features would have been immediate grounds for a medical discharge, anyway. Ian would have been fucked no matter what he did. _ Thanks, Monica_.

“That sucks, dude. You got whatever it was taken care of? Don’t wanna pry too much, but you look healthy, seem like you’re okay and it sure as hell don’t affect your ability to fuck.”

_ Thanks a fucking lot, Mickey. _

Trying to will away the feeling of acid burning his tongue, Ian forced out, “Yeah, I’m okay. But I still have to go see doctors every once in a while.”

Mickey seemed satisfied with the response, or knew not to probe any further. “But you can have a beer or two, seen you drinkin’ at the house. Wanna shotgun?”

“Sure.” _One won’t hurt_, figured Ian, since he was pretty stable on his meds, though he hadn’t shotgunned a beer since the last time he and Mickey had come to the dugouts.

“Know how?”

“Fuck yeah,” Ian scoffed. “You got a knife?”

Mickey chuckled to himself and handed a beer over to Ian along with a pocket knife. He seemed to be amused, watching Ian position the can just so and puncture it quickly before bringing it to his mouth and popping the top of the can, ingesting the cold liquid as it poured down his throat.

Ian heard the same popping sound and the loud gulps from Mickey finishing off his beer. They both began wiping their mouths with the sleeves of their coats, laughing from the rush. Mickey was starting back at him with a wicked, knowing grin, as Ian, without a word, began to unfasten his belt and flip Mickey around.

The redhead noticed the sounds of his clanging belt loop and the rustling of fabric, coupled with the light panting of the eager brunet dropping his pants to his knees. Even before he had his prepped fingers inside of Mickey, Ian felt like he had died and gone to heaven.


	10. Chapter 10

As far as Mickey could tell, the good mood from the previous day (and night at the dugouts) seemed to carry over into the next morning. He spotted Ian trying to mask his goofy-ass grin over breakfast. The dude was as happy as Mickey had seen him, whistling as he cleaned up the kitchen and started a load of laundry. Mandy and Iggy both left for work looking more relaxed and relieved by the calm that had settled over the Milkovich house.

Mickey briefly thought about helping out with some of the chores, noticing Ian hard at work, but then decided he was content with his video game, wishing Ian would stop being so fucking responsible and join him. He was about to suggest as much, but noticed Ian’s phone began to vibrate. The redhead quickly walked over and snatched the device from the coffee table, mumbling something about taking the call outside. 

_ Fine, I’ll challenge him to play me once he’s done with his top secret call. _ It would be fitting to kick the redhead’s ass in _Mario Kart_, knock the cocky motherfucker down a peg or two after the ravaging he’d given Mickey’s ass last night. Fuck, he’d again known exactly what the brunet liked, had him seeing stars and not the ones in the sky over the ballfield.

Mickey considered their conversation before the banging, where they’d talked about Ian’s desire to go into the Army and Mickey’s assertions that officers would be the first to get shot. Ian said he’d gotten a medical discharge, but the hell if he knew why._ It isn’t any of my business_, Mickey supposed. 

He gulped down the last bit of his coffee and stared intently at Ian as he came back inside the house, fumbling with his phone, looking like he had something to say but was afraid to. Wanting to keep the mood light, Mickey decided he’d just put the thought aside for now.

“Wanna play?” he asked, offering the spare controller to Ian.

“Uh...I was thinking about a shower.”

“So keep thinking about it, but first, you gotta try to beat me in _Super Smash Bros_...and we still have to unlock a bunch more characters. Barely have any of them yet.”

Mickey booted up the Switch, and Ian caved and sat down next to him, picking up the extra controller. They started the game, and Ian picked Pikachu to fight Mickey’s Marth. Ian made an attempt to give him some competition, but failed miserably. 

Out of the corner of his eye, the brunet noticed Ian starting to make sexy eyes in his direction, but Mickey wasn’t having it. Not for the moment, anyway, since he was concentrating on the video game.

“Take a picture, big guy. It’ll last longer,” Mickey muttered, raising an eyebrow in Ian’s direction as he beat him for the third straight time.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. This is just feeling familiar.”

“If I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that...” scoffed Mickey.

The next round ended with him kicking Gallagher’s ass again, but now he was getting bored. In the lull, he figured this was as good a time as any to ask Ian a question that had been bothering him.

“Been wanting to know something: how come you haven’t shown me any pictures from before, if we were - you know - all the bullshit you and Mandy and Iggy have been sayin’ we were?”

Mickey didn’t expect the smile he got in response to his question. He figured Ian’s more jovial demeanor, which Mickey welcomed more than he cared to admit, might soon fade into that sad, someone-just-kicked-my-puppy expression. _ I like seeing him smile, _ Mickey thought, not for the first time in the last few days. _ Fuck_.

“Photographic evidence, huh? I don’t have much. You don’t like having your picture taken...or you didn’t use to, anyway,” Ian explained.

It was true: Mickey fucking hated it. Still, in order to be so head over heels with this guy - like they were all saying - surely there had to be more than one random photo of Ian.

“You know, for all this weirdness, all of the shit I’ve been seein' actually seems to be matchin’ up with what you’ve told me,” Mickey said. “I mean, I told you all on Saturday I thought you were crazy, and I’m still confused as fuck. But...if I end up believing you, is this what we did before? Banged a lot?”

“Yeah. We did, especially in the beginning. Never went out on a real date, though. Never could get the timing to work out in our favor,” Ian added softly. And there it was again: the sadness crept into his expression. It quickly faded into something more wistful, like being lost in memories of a time that should have been happy, but was tainted by sadness where there should have been joy.

“‘Course we didn’t,” grumbled Mickey, feeling annoyed and guilty at the same time, wishing he hadn’t brought up the subject in the first place. He didn’t do things like dates, but for whatever reason, Gallagher seemed keen on the idea. Surprisingly, Mickey didn’t want to punch him in the mouth for suggesting it. _ But it's not going to happen. I’m not going to go on a date like some chick. _

Mickey got up abruptly to get more coffee from the kitchen and leave Ian to mope in private. Fuck, he was beginning to feel like he owed the guy something, at the very least, for giving him the best orgasm of his life at the dugouts.

“You want coffee?” Mickey called out.

“No, thanks,” was the response, followed by, “Going to grab a shower.”

Mickey poked his head out of the doorway of the kitchen. “Who's gonna keep an eye on me? Make sure I don’t get into any shit?”

Ian was already on his feet, headed to the bathroom, and he shrugged in reply as he started to close the door. “Guess I should trust you. You’re a grown man, Mick.”

_ What the fuck could I get into in these few minutes by myself, anyway? It’s not like I’m just going to go out and rob a bank. Maybe he’s not so pissed about the lifting after all. _

As if reading his mind, Ian plodded out of the bathroom, bare-chested, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The towel was just low enough for Mickey to admire the prominent “V” leading to what was definitely his favorite part of the redhead.

”On second thought, it'd be better if you came in,” he declared, giving Mickey a knowing look the brunet returned with a glare. “Not supposed to let you out of my sight...no matter how much of an asshole you are.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey grumbled, his scowl not lifting in spite of the warm feeling he got from the smile spreading across Ian’s face. It pleased Mickey, even if he wasn’t going to drop his guard and actually admit it. What he could definitely admit, however, was that Ian was giving him one hell of a view.

When they’d fucked the other day, Mickey noticed the couple of tattoos on Ian’s body. He wondered when he’d gotten them - the one on his ribs looked related to the military - but there was one burning question Mickey had to ask about the other one.

“Why do you have tits on your back?”

Ian froze, looking visibly uncomfortable. His face fell, and Mickey kicked himself for fucking up again.

“Long story. I would say, ‘Don’t even ask,’ but it’s too late.”

“Yeah, cuz I asked.” Mickey tried to play it cool and gave the redhead a playful, hopefully flirty smirk. “But yeah, if you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t gotta. You gonna get in the shower or keep runnin’ your mouth?”

Ian’s smile returned, to Mickey’s profound relief. Damn him if his eyes didn’t start lighting up like a Christmas tree, too. This man was going to be the death of him if he wasn’t careful.

“If you feel like you need to wash up, you can join me. Please do, actually. I can keep an eye on you, and maybe have a little more on you...or in you.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. There was no way he was going to turn down the offer. “You put it that way, you got it, Red.”

Mickey walked to the bathroom and pulled off his shirt as Ian removed his towel and hung it on the shower curtain rod. The shorter man stared shamelessly at his exposed body. His dick was obviously what Mickey liked best about him, but those muscles, that ass...not half-bad to look at, if he dared to think so himself.

As Ian started the water and got in, Mickey stepped out of his boxers and tossed them in the corner before following Ian into the shower. He sighed as the warm water began to pour over his body, then huffed in annoyance as the redhead turned so his large frame blocked the majority of the water. The brunet stood there, shivering.

“Fuck you, Gallagher. I’m standin’ here freezing my ass off cuz your giant red one is in my way. This space ain’t meant for two.”

Ian chuckled, then adjusted the shower head so it sprayed onto Mickey. “Grumpy.”

Mickey had only ever showered with other people in juvie - as far as he could remember. That apparently wasn’t the case since he’d served time in Beckman. He should have been uncomfortable being in this close proximity to another dude, but he wasn’t going to do anything like kiss him. Mickey would cut out his tongue if Gallagher tried anything of the sort.

Shaking his head free of water, Mickey rubbed at the spot that had been bandaged last week. He still had twinging headaches: that was to be expected, since they’d diagnosed him with a concussion and the whole memory loss thing. But otherwise, he felt fine and was tired of being cooped up in the house for days on end. It needed to stop.

Once he’d broken out of his thoughts, Mickey turned to see Ian staring lecherously at his ass, the water cascading over it as he soaped up his own washcloth and used it to clean his cock and balls. Mickey just smirked back.

“Too bad we got no lube in here.”

“I know,” came the response from Ian. “Just looking. Thinking about what we did yesterday. Felt so good, and always the rush of being able to do it outside and not get caught.”

“Hey, like I said, I always wanted to do it there.” Mickey’s dick twitched, remembering how he’d come untouched in the dugouts. It was a brand new experience for him, though Gallagher would likely claim otherwise.

“You know, we don’t need lube for this....” Ian came up from behind and pressed his half-erect cock against Mickey’s ass while snaking one hand through the warm water cascading down the brunet’s torso, and wrapping his long fingers firmly around his cock. Ian did this so swiftly, it caught Mickey off-guard. He gasped from both surprise and sudden pleasure. 

“You good with this, Mick?” asked Ian.

“Yeah,” Mickey panted in reply. “Fuck, yeah.” It was like Ian had some kind of magical power over his body - one romp in the sack from a few days earlier had left Mickey wanting whatever the guy was handing out. Pun intended. 

Still strangely unperturbed by the closeness of their bodies, Mickey thought about returning the favor. He even reached his hand back to paw at Ian’s cock, but apparently, the redhead was content with the friction he was generating from rubbing his erection in between Mickey’s ass cheeks. _ Damn, that’s really hot. _

“Hands against the wall,” Ian commanded, placing the palm of his free hand on Mickey’s chest and pulling him closer to nip at the back of his neck. He flinched away from it.

“Don’t kiss my neck. None of that girly shit,” Mickey snapped. “And don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.” He preferred not to think about what he’d said and the undignified sounds he’d made last night - and the night before - which rather contradicted the bravado he was trying to show Ian now.

Ian huffed. Mickey hoped he hadn’t fucked up again, but he quickly put it to the back of his mind as Ian grazed his fingers over Mickey’s nipples, followed by gentle massaging over each one. He continued working the brunet’s cock with his other hand.

The buds hardened at the touch, and Mickey moaned. He realized his nipples were sensitive on his own time while pleasuring himself, but he hadn’t let anyone else touch them until now. It felt too...girly. Yet, in this moment he didn’t care. The exquisite pleasure overrode any desire to tell the redhead to stop, as well as any authoritative tone in his voice. All of this just made Mickey’s dick even harder under Ian’s rhythmic motion. He felt it pulse as Ian’s grip tightened.

“Fuck!” he hissed, all hope of not sounding needy gone.

“Going to make you come so hard,” Ian growled into the brunet’s ear, continuing to press against him, jerking him at a faster pace to match the frantic moans pouring out of his mouth as he panted and leaned back. “Oh, shit, Gallagher! Fuck! I can’t...I’m almost…”

“Let go, just fucking let go,” Ian crooned, and Mickey felt as though the devil himself had been whispering in his ear. The warmth of the water, coupled with Ian’s expert strokes and the heat from their bodies caused Mickey to cry out as the shudders from his orgasm overtook him. He opened his eyes long enough to see his release circling the drain.

“Fuuuck…that was hot,” he said as soon as he could speak again. Thankfully, he was able to steady his palms against the wall in front of him as he caught his breath.

By now, the water falling onto their bodies had become lukewarm, which was not surprising since the hot water tank at the Milkovich house wasn’t the most reliable. Mickey turned to tell Ian they should get out - or maybe he should say “thanks” first - just in time to witness Ian working his hands up and down his own cock and falling apart as Mickey’s hooded eyes met green eyes. He had to admit it was nothing short of spectacular, knowing he, himself, was the reason for Ian being so damn turned on and more than willing to satisfy both their needs. At least he wasn’t a selfish lover.

With one final, firm tug, his wrist twisting as his fingers moved over the head of his cock, Ian’s breath hitched as he fell over the edge into his own orgasm, the white ribbons of his release being washed down the drain with the falling water. Mickey chuckled to himself before muttering, “Damn, Gallagher, you got plenty of fuck in you. Can’t ever get enough.”

Mickey pretended not to hear Ian’s response: “Not when it comes to you.”

They got out of the shower and, after toweling off and throwing on some clothes, Ian let Mickey know he was going to go out to talk to “some people” about a job opportunity. The other man was strangely cagey about who the people were, and even where the prospective job would be. After some pushing, Ian eventually said it was a bar. He was hoping he’d be able to get started there by happy hour today.

_ I don’t know why a fucking bar is such a huge secret. Not like he’s a teetotaler. _

Just then, Ian’s phone chimed, and he walked over to look at the text.

“Oh,” Ian piped up. “I just got a text from Iggy. He wants you to come ASAP to meet with his boss and talk about a job. It’s just...are you sure you’ll be able to do this? With your head and all?”

Mickey flipped him off. “Fuck that, and fuck not being able to leave this motherfuckin’ house. I’m goin’ and I don’t need your say-so.”

“I guess,” Ian replied, still looking uneasy. “But I’ll at least ride the L with you and make sure you get to the site. That way, you don’t have to worry about getting lost.”

Privately, Mickey suspected this had as much to do with wanting to keep an eye on him than any concerns about his health or getting lost, but he opted to let it go. “Okay,” he decided without any qualms.

Once they’d put their jackets and boots on and shuffled out the door, Mickey chanced a look at Ian when he didn’t think the redhead would notice. _ Fuck, he’s got a lot of freckles. And I really fucking like them. _ Ian was staring straight ahead as he walked, but must have noticed Mickey’s glance out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. Mickey pretended nothing happened.

They hopped on the L. The train started to move, and they took seats opposite each other, still preferring not to speak as the low chatter of some of the other commuters wafted in toward them. As they arrived at the station closest to the construction site, they could see Iggy, in his hard hat and safety vest, waving at them from the platform in an awkward manner.

“Okay...guess this is where I leave you,” Ian said. “I’m going to make a couple of stops and buy a few things with the money Lip loaned me, before I head over to the bar about the job. Need anything?”

Mickey shook his head wordlessly and got off the train. As he stepped onto the platform, he turned to see Ian with his hand pressed against the glass, giving him an enigmatic smile Mickey couldn’t quite read...and then it hit him, a memory as clear as 100 proof vodka.

_ “I miss you.” _

_ “Say that again, I’ll rip your tongue out of your head.” _

_ He tried to look menacing and tough, but it was hard and the slightest hint of a smirk betrayed him. The redheaded teen’s face broke into a big smile, one not jaded by heartbreak or loss. It was so sweet and naive, full of wonder. Why did he have to look so damn innocent? _

_ He should go find someone whose father won’t kill him if he ever finds out what they were doing - what they’ve done. He needs to find some other queer kid, because fuck love. I don’t do any of that shit. I’m a Milkovich and he’s a Gallagher. Can’t show any sign of weakness. It’s life or death under Dad’s thumb. _

_ But Gallagher just continued to smile, and then he reached his hand up to the pane of glass separating them. A rush of panic raced through him. Didn’t he realize where they were? I have to put this kid back in his fucking place. _

_ “Take your hand off the glass.” _

Mickey was now following behind Iggy, who had given him a vest, hard hat and safety goggles. His brother was leading him around the site and rambling about how his boss, Aaron, had everything ready for him to come to his office and talk about the job. He tried to focus, but there was too much going on in his mind right now.

_ Gallagher came to see me. I was in juvie, and I was there after...I got shot. There was a fight in the Kash and Grab. Think, Mickey… _

Mickey met with Aaron, and he went through the motions as his new boss talked about what the job would entail, and what would be expected of him. He’d be able to work mostly the same shifts as Iggy to start out, and as he got more comfortable with what he was doing, he’d start getting more shifts. It all seemed pretty simple, for the most part, although he wasn’t used to actually having a legal job. Everyone seemed to be on him about how important it was, and especially Ian was on him constantly about not fucking up and getting sent back to prison again.

“I’m giving you a chance because your brother vouched for you, and I like to be able to give people with rougher backgrounds a second shot at being able to give back,” said Aaron. “We can get you started with this instructional video. I’ll set you up in the other room, and then I’ll get you the paperwork you have to sign.”

“All good,” Mickey answered. “Oh, and I got this stuff, here, sayin’ I’m medically cleared to work. Just got outta the hospital last week.” He pulled out the hospital discharge papers, which he had crumpled into his pocket.

“So your brother mentioned,” the site manager answered. “Don’t worry. You’ll be shadowing for the first week and, as long as you don’t have any physical symptoms that could put you in danger while you’re here, we’ll go from there. He explained the...other stuff, but if you haven’t had dizziness, vertigo or anything, then no problem.”

“Nope,” Mickey answered.

“Good, But I still want to keep an eye on you and not just throw you into any of the heavier stuff until we’re sure you can physically handle everything else the job entails. For now, you’re going to be training with Roger.”

As Aaron turned on the video and left, Mickey tried to pay attention to it, but found his concentration slipping in and out regardless of any attempts to keep it focused on the material related to his new job. There was too much coming back: he was piecing together what he’d been told about the Kash and Grab, the gun he’d supposedly taken, and being poked awake by Gallagher with the tire iron. Not to mention the amazing sex they’d had on Saturday, which he’d been told was just the latest of many times.

He paused for a moment, and then more information flooded back into the forefront of his consciousness.

_Gallagher poked me with that goddamn tire iron, and we banged for the first time after we fought. And the gun I had? I’d stolen it somewhere. Then, I got sent to juvie because the asshole who shot me turned me into the cops, and Gallagher visited me. It’s all starting to make sense. _

_ Gallagher is going to shit a brick when I tell him what I remember. _

The video kept playing, and Mickey forced his thoughts back into the present, as difficult as it was to stay focused. Apparently Gallagher really _ had _ been in his life in a far greater capacity than he’d thought. _ I guess there’s something to this I could get used to: finding out if everything else I’m being told about him is right.  
_

* * *

Once their shift was over, Mickey left with Iggy and climbed into the passenger seat of his car. The engine sputtered to life, almost miraculously given its condition. Mickey wondered when Iggy bought this hunk of junk.

“Where and when did you get this thing?” Mickey asked. “Surprised we're not just ridin’ the engine bare with how it’s fallin’ apart.”

Iggy flipped him off. “Got it from one of the guys we used to run with, before he got sent back to the joint. Gotta say this thing is in better shape than he is nowadays, which really ain’t sayin’ a whole hell of a lot.”

“Go figure.” Mickey shifted in his seat as they stopped at a red light. “So how much do you know about Gallagher and me hooking up? I started to remember some more shit.”

“Honestly, bro?” Iggy answered after a long pause. “I knew nothing until you came out: cuz you and he hid it so well, nobody knew at all until then. Mandy said it had been goin’ on for a while. But anyway, it was a whole big-ass production at the Alibi. It was in front of all of us, in front of Dad and your wi-”

He stopped himself. “Uh...sorry. Ian told me not to bring it up just yet. Maybe later.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow at him. “What were you gonna say? Spit it out, asshole.”

“Nothin'. Don’t worry about it.”

The younger man snorted. “I’m still gettin’ used to people saying Dad knows I...fuck Red. You’ve been tellin’ me he does, but I can’t remember what he did or didn’t say when it happened. You tellin’ me I said that in front of everyone? Dad must’ve tried to kill me.”

“He did. Screamed a bunch of shit, too. Cops came and hauled him off. For some reason, they didn’t end up takin' you, even though you really gave as good as you got.”

“Go figure. I’m alive, Dad’s in the can, and I’m here and talkin' to you about this. Maybe I’m not so fucked after all.”

“Yeah. Gotta give yourself some credit, little bro. And keep listenin’ to Ian, cuz he’s got your back. I'm not just sayin' this to hear my gums flap. You two got a lot of history, and buggin’ me about it won’t be the same thing. Talk to Ian. It’ll mean a fuckton to him.”

Iggy pulled into the driveway, and they walked in the house to see Ian making dinner.

“Chili’s almost done. Anything new happen with you guys?” Ian turned to the brothers, his eyes fixated on Mickey, waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, Ian continued, “Well, I had a good day. I can start at the bar on Wednesday. Ke- I mean, the owners, were shocked Mickey hasn’t tried to kill anyone after being stuck in the house all weekend.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey shot back. He paused. “Wait, your mystery boss knows me?”

“They know your dad,” came the awkward reply. “Know a lot of our family members. Frank hangs out there so much, he lives there.”

“So, you got the job you were looking for. Big whoop.” Mickey paused for a second to choose his next words carefully. “Got some stuff I really gotta talk to you about before we eat.” He turned to Iggy, “Can we trust you not to almost burn down the house again while I talk to Gallagher in my room for a sec?”

“I would say ‘blow me,’ but that shit’s nasty since you’re a dude - and my brother. So I won’t,” Iggy answered with a shit-eating grin.

“Fuckin’ sick! Don’t fuckin’ joke about incest shit in this house. Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah? So quit your yapping and just go blow him while I keep an eye on the goddamn chili.”

Mickey was on the verge of cussing his brother out when Ian tapped him on the shoulder. “What were you going to tell me, Mick?”

“Uh, yeah. Follow me.”

Once they were in Mickey’s room, Ian closed the door behind them. “What’s up?”

“Look, I’m not sure how to tell you this. Just...don’t go losin’ your shit,” Mickey warned before continuing. “Right after I got off the train this afternoon, I remembered our...you know, first time. Thought about the pieces, and it came back. There was the tire iron, which you poked me in the back with, and I figure that must’ve been the first time we banged. Then, getting shot at the Kash and Grab. I know I ended up in juvie and you came to visit me, but what happened after I got out? Little foggy.”

“Oh, Mick. A whole fucking lot.” The smile Ian gave Mickey in return put the one from behind the glass to shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Gallavich is back in “prime time,” we may end up posting every couple of weeks instead of weekly. Thanks so much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

It was difficult leaving Mickey on that platform, but surely Iggy wouldn’t fuck up again and let Mickey out of his sight. As the L pulled away from the station, Ian was on the brink of yelling out for someone to stop the train. Something had happened, Ian was certain of it, when Mickey turned around to lock eyes with him. Ian hadn’t meant to be so dramatic, pressing his hand longingly against the glass, expecting an eye roll from Mickey. Instead, he noticed a bona fide recognition of something from their past flickering across those blue eyes. Ian was certain of it, and this was going to be torture until they were both back in the Milkovich house and he could find out.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself of Dr. Peterson’s advice from the phone call he had with her earlier in the morning, unbeknownst to Mickey. Her tone had been just as warm as when they’d had a discussion in the hospital about Mickey’s amnesia. As the train continued to move, Ian took comfort in the feeling they weren’t alone in this after all.

_ “You said you have some concerns, Ian? Any issues with the wound?” Dr. Peterson had said. _

_ “No, everything’s healing nicely.” _

_ “Any fainting spells? Dizziness? Odd behavior?” _

_ Ian almost laughed at her word choice and made certain not to bring up the shoplifting. “Nothing unusual for Mickey. Just the memory stuff. It’s still slow going.” _

_ “I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Dr. Peterson. “It’s been over a week now, correct? Let me reiterate that this length of time is not uncommon, though I can’t imagine how frustrating this must be. Has there been any recollection at all?” _

_ Ian closed his eyes and replayed some of their interactions from the past few days. “Some, I’d say,” he replied. “Familiar patterns. Deja vu type things. Mickey seems to be more accepting of the fact that it’s not 2011.” _

_ “Sounds like you’re on the right track, then. Is he taking it easy for the time being?” _

_ “Uhhh…he’s going pretty stir-crazy. Fortunately, he’ll be checking out a construction site gig where his brother works today,” Ian replied. _

_ There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Although Ian was used to Mickey being stubborn and ignoring his physical limits, other people definitely would not be. _

_ “That may not a good idea. Will he at least be on light duty?” _

_ “I don’t know, but he’s not probably going to tell me, since he’s stubborn as hell.” _

_ She sighed. “Okay. Well, at least Mickey has a follow-up appointment scheduled a couple of weeks out. What else can I do for you, Ian?” _

_Something was on Ian’s mind: a rather large something. For years, there had been an elephant in the room with them, one he still wasn’t sure how to deal with: the worst day of Mickey’s life. It pained him to think about, though he was fully aware it wasn’t his trauma to bear. But even while they were in prison, the issue never came up. Ian considered the grim likelihood that this situation would force Mickey to confront it. _

_ After a long pause, he kept it vague. “I didn’t get into this in the hospital, but Mickey’s experienced some trauma. It’s complicated, but to make a long story short, he was forced into a relationship with a woman when he was younger, and they had a son. They aren’t really in the picture now, but when he remembers what happened, it’ll knock him on his ass, pardon my language. I guess I need to know how to tell him. Or do I just wait?” _

_ “Hmmm. Have you been letting Mickey figure things out on his own or feeding him information?” _

_ Ian wondered if reminding Mickey about the first time they had sex in his bedroom was “feeding him information,” and if he’d crossed a line there, but Ian decided he hadn’t been specific. “More letting him figure things out.” _

_ “And how exactly do you think he’ll react to these memories? What’s typical for him?” _

_ “He represses things. I don’t think he’s ever addressed the shit that happened, not in a constructive way.” _

_ “Ah, well, I think the best course of action is to continue as is, and I can text you the contact information for some psychologists who deal with post traumatic stress issues.” _

_ “Will it be expensive?” _

_ “The prison should cover all of Mickey’s care, but if not, some of them may be willing to see him at a reduced rate.” _

_ “Okay. Thanks, Dr. Peterson.” _

_ “Just know this: while Mickey needs your patience and support more than ever, you also need to take care of yourself. Are you practicing self-care, and have you thought about speaking to anyone?” _

_ Ian rubbed the back of his neck, not really wanting to get into his health issues. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I have support from Mickey’s siblings and mine too. Biggest thing right now is finding jobs for both of us so we can meet our parole requirements.” _

_ “I see. Well, please don’t hesitate to call me. I’m encouraged to hear there’s been some progress. Let’s be positive, and I’ll get you those contacts. See you both in two weeks.” _

Before he knew it, Ian was nearing his stop on the L. He really wanted to get back to Mickey but knew he’d be at the construction site for the rest of the day. Ian planned on buying a few items to drop over at the Gallagher house before he went to the Alibi, and he wanted to pick up a little something for Kevin and V’s girls. 

His purchases weren’t too extravagant since he was low on funds - some snacks he knew Debbie, Carl, and Liam would appreciate, a coloring book for Franny, a gender-neutral outfit for Lip’s soon-to-be-born baby, and a Play-Doh set for Gemma and Amy. Out of habit, he bought a Snickers bar to give to Mickey later. 

Ian took the L back to the neighborhood and walked up the familiar steps of the blue house. Since no one was home, Ian left the gifts for his siblings on the kitchen table, along with a note - _ Miss you guys, making progress with Mickey_. Before leaving the house, Ian searched for and found one of his old phones with the intent of activating it for Mickey. _ He might actually be amenable to carrying it, at least for emergencies_, he figured, sticking it in his pocket.

After locking up, Ian walked over to the Alibi with high hopes of securing gainful employment. And it would be good to see some friendly faces, though he was hoping Frank wasn’t milling around. Ian had managed to run into him only two times since being released from prison. 

_ Make that three. _Ian cursed under his breath as he walked into the Alibi and caught sight of his lousy-ass father nursing a beer and “entertaining” the regulars with his ridiculous philosophical waxings.

“Ian! Well, look what the cat drug in!” shouted a familiar voice. It was V, her smile as beautiful as ever, and she had her hands in the air, moving quickly from behind the bar to pull Ian into a warm embrace. 

V had drawn the attention of Frank and the other regulars but quickly pulled Ian aside, sizing him up and waving at the others to shut up. “Damn boy, you got all buff...and I heard about, you know…” V lowered her voice and made a motion in the air, like the letter “W,” that Ian presumed was her miming Mickey’s round ass. 

Ian smiled. “Uh...yeah…”

“Lip stopped by to pick up some baby stuff and told me,” V added. “Then Fiona texted me. I haven’t said anything to Kev, but it’s killing me. We’d like to see Mickey, but I guess you’re keeping him out of sight for now?”

Ian nodded and sighed. “Yeah, It’s complicated. We’re trying to reintroduce him to things little by little. I think he’s making progress, but I don’t want to trigger anything yet. You know this place has a lot of memories - and not all good ones.”

“He remember Lana or Yev?”

A look of distaste came across V’s normally friendly face, and Ian figured it would be best not to stay on this topic for too long. He was surprised V brought it up in the first place, considering the Balls’ experience with Svetlana before she remarried and left town.

“Doesn’t seem to. Not looking forward to having to explain it,” Ian said.

V squeezed his shoulder. “No, I guess not. But you two...are you…”

Ian grimaced. “Not exactly. But he remembers things. I think he’s beginning to trust me, too, which is a lot further than we were a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s something.”

“Thanks for asking, V, but I want to know about you and Kev. And the girls. Brought them a little something.” Ian handed her the bag with the Play-Doh kit. 

V stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, sweetie. They’re in school right now, doing great. I figure I might get to spend more time with them if we can get this job thing worked out for you. I’m really sorry if we can’t pay you that much, but Kev and I would be more than happy to have you start here for Happy Hour on Wednesday.”

“Oh, V...that would be great! I need to update my PO on my progress. I think he’s been giving me a break with all of this Mickey shit, but I’m sure my grace period is about over.”

Just then, an all-too familiar voice piped up. “Hey! What does it take for an honest, hard-working American to get a drink around here? These fine gentlemen and I have been waiting while my recently-incarcerated progeny is keeping you from your business.”

“Shut up, Frank!” Ian groaned.

V shook her head. “Sounds good. I better get back to work before Frank starts trying to recruit anyone else into his next scheme. Gotta keep them distracted.” She turned to head behind the bar, but just then Kevin’s large frame emerged from the back room.

“Ian!” Kevin called to him as he refilled several empty bottles with full ones. “Glad to see you’re in one piece. Sorry I couldn’t bring my rape walker experience into jail with you. Hopefully they all asked for consent.”

“Kev!” V admonished him. “That’s not funny.”

Kevin shrugged as he turned to the group that included Frank, who by now was gesturing wildly with his hands as he was regaling other patrons, who seemed to be inching away.

“It was nice to chat and all, but I should probably get going,” Ian said. “I’ve got a couple of hours before Mickey and Iggy get home, and I want to relax a bit before dinner.”

“No problem,” said V. “See you Wednesday.”

On his way back to the Milkovich house, Ian texted Iggy to check on how things were going at the construction site. He knew Iggy was a man of few words, so Ian wasn’t surprised when he texted back a couple of random emojis: a check mark and a middle finger, which must have been code for “fine.”

Ian figured they’d be back in time for dinner, and he’d get something started a little later. Since he had the house to himself, he decided to venture into Mickey’s room, careful not to move anything, though he doubted Mickey would notice, considering the clothes from the past few days strewn across the floor and his unmade bed with the sheets kicked all the way to the end of the bed. Ian let his mind wander.

The two of them had spent a lot of time in this room, a lot of time in this bed, but not nearly enough. The redhead kicked his shoes off and flopped down on top of the mattress. It had to be the same one from a few years ago - the Milkoviches weren’t usually big on upgrading their furniture. Hell, who was on the South Side? Better to get as much use out of shit as you could, until it was worn down to bare threads or infested with some pest you couldn’t easily eradicate.

Old as it was, this bed was luxurious compared to the shitty-ass pieces of foam they’d slept on Beckman. At first, Ian sighed contently at the prospect of not having to sleep on an inch-thick prison bunk mattress or the living room couch, but then it turned to sadness. They used to both curl up in this bed, or _ any _ bed for that matter, together. _ Hell, I’d sleep on a wooden plank, if it would bring the old Mickey back to me. _

Mickey had to get better soon and get all of his memories back. He had to. Ian couldn’t bear the thought of everything they’d endured, all of Mickey’s struggles and triumphs, gone forever in his mind, never to be recreated.

_ If he doesn’t get his memories back, I don’t even know what I’m going to do. I’ve fought so fucking hard to get him back, and yet again it’ll be ripped from us right at the finish line. The world seems to be destined to hate us. I can’t take any more of this bullshit. _

Trying not to go too far down a rabbit hole, Ian distracted himself with a book he brought with him in his bag from the Gallagher house. He finished a few chapters before setting his alarm and letting himself fall into a brief, fitful sleep in Mickey’s bed. He just had to make sure he was up before Mickey got home.

The shrill ringtone jolted him awake a few hours later. Grumpily, Ian turned it off and walked into the kitchen to start getting dinner ready. He put together ingredients to make chili, including ground beef, tomatoes, beans and seasoning, and let the pot simmer while he sat on the couch. He scrolled through his phone, and sent Mandy a couple of texts about how things were going. She messaged back that she was also in contact with Iggy and congratulated Ian on his job, promising to come over on the weekend when she had more staff to cover for her. Mandy also told him to hang in there and thanked him for putting up with “her boys.”

Their meal was almost ready by the time Mickey and Iggy arrived back home. Ian turned to both of the Milkoviches. “Chili’s almost done. Anything new happen with you guys?” Expecting and hoping for an answer from Mickey, Ian focused his gaze before realizing he wouldn’t get one. _ Wishful thinking_, he decided.

“Well, I had a good day,” Ian eventually said after the awkward pause. “I can start at the bar on Wednesday. Ke- I mean, the owners, were shocked Mickey hasn’t tried to kill anyone after being stuck in the house all weekend.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey answered. After waiting a moment, a confused look crossed his face and his forehead crinkled. “Wait, your mystery boss knows me?” His eyebrows went up.

_ Fuck_! Ian kicked himself, realizing he shouldn’t have said that and needed to be more careful. Thinking quickly on his feet, he decided to just trickle out pieces of the truth, as he had generally been inclined to do, and cross his fingers that Mickey wouldn’t keep pressing.

“They know your dad,” said Ian slowly. “Know a lot of our family members. Frank hangs out there so much, he practically lives there.”

“So, you got the job you were looking for. Big whoop,” Mickey said. “Got some stuff I really gotta talk to you about before we eat. Can we trust you not to almost burn down the house again while I talk to Gallagher in my room for a sec?” he added, addressing his brother.

“I would say ‘blow me,’ but that shit’s nasty since you’re a dude - and my brother. So I won’t,” Iggy grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

“Fuckin’ sick! Don’t fuckin’ joke about incest shit in this house. Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”

“Yeah? So quit your yapping and just go blow him while I keep an eye on the goddamn chili,” Iggy shot back.

Ian tapped Mickey on the shoulder insistently, hoping this was going to go where he desperately wanted it to do so. “What were you going to tell me, Mick?”

“Uh, yeah. Follow me.”

His pulse starting to quicken. Ian walked with Mickey to the bedroom. As soon as the door closed, he asked, “What’s up?”

“Look, I’m not sure how to tell you this. Just...don’t go losing your shit. Right after I got off the train this afternoon, I remembered our...you know, first time. Thought about the pieces, and it came back.”

Ian felt like his chest just became ten pounds lighter as he continued to listen.

“There was the tire iron, which you poked me in the back with, and I figure that must’ve been the first time we banged. Then, getting shot at the Kash and Grab. I know I ended up in juvie and you came to visit me, but what happened after I got out? Little foggy,” Mickey finished.

Ian took a second to comprehend what he was hearing. He should have gotten emotional or even cried, but all he could feel was joy, an emotion sorely lacking from recent encounters between the two men. “Oh, Mick. A whole fucking lot,” Ian said, unable to keep a huge smile from spreading across what he figured was previously a drained and tired visage.

“Yeah, well, at least that’s somethin’,” Mickey said with a small smirk. “Makes more sense knowin’ Saturday wasn’t our first time, since I was real fuckin’ confused about how I wasn’t walkin’ real funny yesterday.”

“I...I’m so fucking happy. You remember. Your memory is starting to come back,” Ian blubbered, thinking he probably sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

“Don’t get all sappy on me, Gallagher. At least, not until I figure out what the fuck else you people ain’t tellin’ me.”

“Uh...sure.” _ Give him space. Let him figure this out on his own time. _

“But...yeah, let’s go back and eat. I’m real fuckin’ hungry.”

Once they’d all finished eating, Mickey shoved his bowl away and yawned dramatically. “Okay, assholes. I’m tired. Probably just gonna call it an early night and fuck off to bed. Unless anybody has anything else to say to me before I hit the hay? Gallagher?”

Ian didn’t respond. Mickey had spoken, and he probably was exhausted. Hopefully, he’d be willing to talk some more about what he’d gotten back in his head in the morning. 

The redhead went into the living room, where Iggy had gravitated after leaving the mess of bowls on the dining room table. On the brink of telling Iggy to help him with the mess, Ian decided to just handle it: Iggy had worked all day and kept watch over Mickey. It would be a different story when they were all punching in. Ian did the dishes, then sat down on the couch with Iggy. They binged the first season of _ The Venture Brothers _before the older Milkovich announced he’d be heading to bed. 

After Iggy finished in the bathroom, Ian flossed and brushed his teeth before settling in for the night. He pushed his head against the pillow on the couch and stared into the darkness of the room. His heart was pounding against his chest, his body, as usual this time of night, was fighting the urge to join Mickey in his bed, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Mickey was feeling the same way.

The day had been full of major milestones, with Mickey retrieving specific events from their past and no longer doubting there had been something between them, even if he wasn’t ready to admit there still was. And even before that, Ian had convinced Mickey to let down his guard and join him in the shower. God, having Mickey naked in front of him again, Ian couldn’t resist putting his hands on as many places as the brunet would let him, knowing being vulnerable like that for current-state Mickey was a big thing. 

Ian couldn’t be sure Mickey was anywhere close to remembering the love between them: a love they’d curated and fought for and thought they’d lost too many times over the years. But he was making do with their undeniable chemistry. Every moan he could elicit from Mickey was fueling him to keep fighting, hoping in his heart of hearts his feelings would come rushing back.

“Gallagher?”

Ian whipped his head around and sat up on his elbows, feeling someone approaching the couch.

“Yeah?” he answered back, realizing Mickey was standing next to him.

“Brought you an extra blanket. Nearly froze my balls off today at the construction site.”

Ian shot up and took the folded blanket from his hands, unsure about this unusual gesture. But he didn’t question it, just tucked it away to think about later. “I’m fine here. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Can’t.” Mickey plopped down next to him, and Ian’s palms began to sweat. What was this about? Was it more things from their past?

“Got another question for you, Gallagher.”

“Shoot.”

“Before...I was just wonderin’. Did I ever hold down a steady job? Like, a real one?”

Ian had to think for a minute. Other than drug-running with his family, his brief stint that summer at the Kash and Grab, working as a pimp, the moving company scam, drug dealing for the cartel and his assigned job in prison, it seemed like the answer was “no.”

“Of sorts...sure. Let’s just say you’ve had many responsibilities that you’ve fulfilled.”

Mickey seemed satisfied enough with that explanation. “Okay...”

“Why? I mean, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. Not exactly thrilled about the construction gig, is all.”

“Yeah, but you get a paycheck.”

“There are other ways to get paid.” Mickey held his hand up in anticipation of what he figured Ian would say. “Not actually gonna do any of them. Just sayin’.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not really looking forward to working in a bar. I used to have a job as an EMT, and I loved it.”

“No shit. I could see that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure, you mentioned that Army shit. You must like helpin’ people, been keepin’ watch over my ass. Anyway, I guess I’ll go back to my room for the night and try to get some sleep.”

“Okay, Mick. Thanks for the blanket.”

“Yeah...don’t mention it. Like, seriously, don’t.”

* * *

The next morning, Ian made sure to get up early and fix a hearty breakfast for everyone and pack lunches for Iggy and Mickey. This earned him major praise from Iggy, who commented on what a domesticated bitch he was, and what Ian chose to interpret as a grateful nod from Mickey. There wasn’t an opportunity to delve into the memories Mickey mentioned - it still seemed like he was processing everything.

After the Milkovich brothers left for work, Ian showered, got dressed, and texted back and forth with his siblings, who all said they missed him, so Ian promised to stop by in the later part of the afternoon for a quick visit. Lip said there was no news yet on the baby front but thanked Ian for buying his future kid an outfit. His older brother also congratulated him on landing a job at the Alibi.

_ What else should I do on my last day of freedom? _ wondered Ian. He ended up playing more _ Super Smash Bros. _He needed the practice, since he wanted have a more respectable showing the next time Mickey challenged him. The day flew by, and Ian made a sandwich before leaving the house to activate his old cell phone so Mickey could use it. Then, he dropped by to hang out with Carl and Liam before picking up a pizza and beating Iggy and Mickey back to the house.

At first, Mickey was quiet and brooding over dinner, but he came to life over a few hours of video games in front of the TV. Iggy called it a night, throwing a wink Ian’s way when he left the two of them alone. Ian ignored him.

Once it seemed like Iggy had settled down for the night, Mickey got a little more chatty.

“Lookin’ forward to your first day at work?”

“Guess so. I’ll probably have to deal with Frank some, but he does a lot of his drinking in the morning,” Ian said ruefully, hoping Frank wouldn’t try to alter his daily routine in an attempt to get free booze from him. “I go in late.”

“Huh. So...you’ll be gettin’ in late?”

“Yeah. Meant to tell Iggy I won’t be his bitch during the week anymore. He can do the cooking and cleaning.”

Mickey must have gotten a kick out of Ian saying “bitch,” because he couldn’t stop laughing. He cursed as he realized he’d just inadvertently caused his character to fall off the edge of the map in the game he was playing.

“Guess I won’t be seein’ much of your pale ass during the week, then.”

“No, guess not.” Ian was fairly sure he’d detected some disappointment in Mickey’s tone. There was a certain irony to all of this: before Mickey’s accident, they talked about how they’d have to get real jobs once they were out of prison and might not see each other as much. 

“In that case...wanna bang, Gallagher?”

The words hung briefly in the air, but only for a few seconds. Ian turned off the Switch and the TV, got to his feet and headed to Mickey’s room with the brunet right behind him.

_ At least some things never change, _Ian thought to himself as Mickey joined him in the place that never ceased to feel like home.


	12. Chapter 12

The next few days passed by in the blink of an eye. By Friday, there was a hint of a new routine taking hold over the Milkovich house. As tired as he was and as much as he fucking hated being told what to do by the site manager, Mickey had to admit the structure that came with his new job was probably a good thing, especially with his life going to hell in a hand basket as of late.

In the mornings, Mickey and Iggy were the first ones up, and Mickey was pretty sure Ian set his alarm just so he could get up and make breakfast for everyone. It was decent of him, considering he worked late at his job. The best Mickey could do in return was to leave him dinner in the evenings - a plate of whatever he and Iggy had thrown together and called a meal.

Mickey had tried to wait up for Ian a few times. There were questions he was wrestling with now, knowing there had been something legit between them at one point. But Ian wasn’t getting in until well after midnight, and Mickey knew he had to get some shut-eye so he wasn’t a total asshole to his boss. Since he still hadn’t had any more physical symptoms - the headaches having dropped off since Monday with no recurrences - today would be the last day he’d shadow before beginning heavier work the following week.

Mickey had slowly come to terms with the fact he was, indeed, no longer a 17-year-old kid, and he wondered how sore his muscles would be after the first few heavy days. He wasn’t geriatric, either, but the fact that even Iggy seemed to struggle with the tasks he was given at work wasn’t reassuring. _ Maybe if the dumbass would lay off the bottle and the Ding Dongs. _

Apparently, Ian was pretty worn out himself, even with his less physically demanding job. He said so one morning: the bartending part, pouring the liquor and mixing the drinks, was a piece of cake, but the constant chatter with the regulars was rough. The mental exhaustion was worse than the physical kind. 

Ian claimed the bargoers gave him a bunch of shit - for what, Mickey didn’t know or want to ask, figuring it had something to do with Ian’s past. The redhead made some comments about Frank leaving him alone, for the most part, after initially asking him to do his old man “a solid” by supplying him with free rounds. Ian emphasized he did not comply with Frank’s requests, much to Mickey’s amusement.

On Friday night, when Ian arrived back at the Milkovich house, Mickey and his brother were still awake. Iggy was sitting near the front door, tapping his foot impatiently. Mickey could hear him mutter, “He’s yours” to Ian, then throwing on a jacket and breezing past the taller man on his way to exit the house. “Later, fuckers!” Iggy called out.

Mickey held up his middle finger and turned his attention back to the television.

“What’s with him?” Ian asked, taking a seat next to Mickey on the sofa.

“Needs to get laid. Probably won’t be back until after we’re asleep. He’ll be alright.”

Ian chuckled and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “Nice of you to wait up for me.”

_ He’s so smug and so...right. Goddamn it. But I’m going to keep playing it cool. _

“Yeah, fuck that, Gallagher. Not what I’m doing. Wanna play some more _ Super Smash Bros_?” Mickey threw the spare controller onto the couch and motioned for Ian to join him.

“Eh, not really in the mood.”

“Yeah, you must be tired after a day of hard labor, bitch,” snarked Mickey. “It’s a good feeling knowin’ I don’t have to work tomorrow.” He booted up the game, half hoping Ian would change his mind.

”Same.” Ian made no attempt to take the extra controller or otherwise show any actual interest in playing the game. 

_ Yeah, well, maybe I did fucking stay up to have a chat with him, but that cocky ass don’t need to know. _

“Leave me anything for dinner?”

“There’s some cold pizza in that box on top of the counter. Have as much as you want,” Mickey said. Secretly, he enjoyed this whole routine of being able to save food for Ian.

“Thanks. Going to grab some. Want anything?” Ian asked on his way to the kitchen. 

“I’ll take a beer, bartender.”

“Funny!” Ian hollered back.

Mickey paused the game when the lanky redhead returned with a slice of pizza in one hand and gripping two bottles of beer with the other. Dude had some long-ass fingers. Shame it was probably too late to put them to good use. Mickey had other things on his mind, anyway. 

“Gotta ask you about some shit, now that we have the house to ourselves.” Mickey gulped a few swallows of beer - what did people call it? _ Liquid courage. _ Of course, Ian looked ready to pounce on the topic. Or maybe not.

“Mick, if it’s about your past, I’m not supposed to be filling in the gaps for you. Dr. Peterson told me to let you figure things out.”

“Yeah, it is about my past, but it was almost two weeks ago since you and the doc had a chat. I’ve been makin’ progress.”

“Well, no. It was earlier this week.”

Mickey felt a jolt of anger coursing through his blood. “The fuck? You talked to her without me?” He thought they were all past this shit of treating him like some toddler who could barely wipe his own ass.

“Sorry. I wanted to ask her if I should be doing anything more to help you. Wasn’t trying to keep you in the dark.”

“Bullshit. That’s probably the call you took outside. If you weren’t tryin’ to keep me out of it, you wouldn't have run out of the room like some damn bitch.”

_The nerve of this fucking asshole! Here I thought I proved to all of these fucks I’m not going to run out and try to lift any more shit, and now Gallagher hides shit by calling the doc behind my back. Fuck that. _

“Okay, fine,” huffed Ian. “You caught me.” He held his hands up in the air like some idiot thief who’d just been cornered. “I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

They sat there in silence, arms crossed and staring at the television screen, which was still in pause mode, the colorful graphics suspended in time, not unlike Mickey’s current state of mind. The initially short pause got awkwardly long before Ian spoke first. “So...go ahead. Ask me your questions.”

Mickey decided his curiosity was bothering him more than the minor betrayal Ian committed, so he swallowed his pride. “Why did we?”

“Why did we..._what_?”

Mickey grumbled back. “That time. In my room. Me and you?!” _ What else the fuck would I be talking about? _

“Oh. That. Yeah.” Ian smirked, like someone cracked a joke only he understood. “Fuck. That was unexpected. I mean, we both wanted to. Guess there was something between us.”

“And then later on?”

“What else do you remember?” Ian asked, inching just close enough that Mickey didn’t quite feel the need to move away. 

“Uh, let’s see. Gettin’ shot and tossed in juvie,” Mickey said, his brows furrowed. “Guess your ass came to visit me. I think I told you to fuck off.”

“Really?” Ian furrowed his brow. “That’s it?

“I guess, man. It’s all fuzzy. Maybe I thought it was nice of you. The fuck if I know.”

“Anything after?”

“Nothin’.” Mickey shrugged his shoulders and finished off his beer. 

“Huh...well...Dr. Peterson said not to _ tell _ you too much of what happened before. But I could _ show _ you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I think you’ve shown me a few times already,” said Mickey. “It’s nice and all, don’t get me wrong. I mean, I wouldn’t turn you down, knowin’ how you -"

“Mick, what I meant to say is, I can take you to a few more places...where you might recognize a few more things. That’s sort of what I was attempting by taking you to the Kash and Grab. Or whatever the fuck it’s called now.”

_ No fucking shit. He thinks he’s slick, but I was on to him a long time ago. I see way more than most people realize...how I like it. _ “I kinda had the feeling you were up to something, Gallagher. Guess it worked before.”

“Mostly.”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Mickey inquired, trying to rack his brain to figure out what Ian was implying - the guy was subtle with some of his comments, but not real subtle. 

“Doesn’t matter. I just need to keep in mind we’re on your timeline, not mine.”

“And you’re gettin’ laid, so quit complaining, bitch.”

Ian burst out laughing, and for some reason, the sound gave Mickey a sense of purpose he didn’t fully understand. _ Fuck, why do I like making this dude happy? _Mickey frowned, trying his best to hide his emotions, a time-honored trait he’d perfected as a survival mechanism - but he really suspected Ian wasn’t buying it.

After the redhead composed himself, he finally responded. “Tomorrow, let’s try to jog your memory,” he said. “I’ll take you by our high school. It’s one more thing we have in common - neither of us graduated.”

“You? A high school dropout? Not buyin’ it, smartass.”

“It’s true,” stammered Ian. “I, uh...had other things going on, so I never finished...” 

Ian was doing that thing again where his words seemed to haul Mickey back in time, faster than the fucking DeLorean. _ He mentioned earlier he was in the Army and it didn’t work out...was he even allowed to enlist if he didn’t graduate from high school? None of this makes sense, yet here Ian is, wanting to visit the school. _

Mickey tried to crack a joke. “Think we’ll get arrested? Couple of hot-lookin’ dudes like us, hanging out at the schoolyard?”

Ian forced a smile in return. “I think we’ll be fine. Maybe we can pay a visit to the bleachers.”

“The bleachers, huh? Gee, not at all obvious what we might’ve done there.”

“Bleachers, dugouts, you know, whatever…”

And on that note, Ian got up to take their trash into the kitchen and refused to make eye contact with Mickey, other than nodding at him to get up from the couch so he could go to sleep. Fucker knew what he was doing, dropping hints here and there, mentioning the dugouts from a few days before. Mickey had a shrewd idea of where this would end up going.

_ Oh yeah_, thought Mickey, _ we’ll have fucked again in a new place by this time tomorrow._

* * *

“L-like this, huh?” managed Mickey through gritted teeth. Gallagher had him bent over, pounding his ass and filling him up just the way he liked it. Mickey managed to keep his fingers looped into the rafters - he needed some kind of leverage to stay upright.

“Not...confirming...or denying,” replied Ian, pressing his bare chest into the small of Mickey’s back where he’d pushed his t-shirt up enough to make contact with his skin. Mickey was warmed by his body heat, but they were both fucking out of their minds to be doing this in the cold.

It was also pretty risky for two grown-ass men to be fucking on school grounds, so they’d waited until dusk the following day for this trip down memory lane, and the bleachers provided decent coverage. Mickey once dealt drugs in this very spot, yet whatever happened between him and Ian here was not computing whatsoever. Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight since Ian was gripping both of his hips while fucking his brains out.

“Jesus, Gallagher! You have the stamina of a goddamn thoroughbred.” 

Ian only responded with a grunt before adjusting his angle to make contact with Mickeys prostate.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouted. “Fuck, right there!”

“Shhhhh,” Ian hissed, pressing a hand over Mickey’s mouth, and before he could push it away, Ian wrapped his other hand around to jerk him off.

_ God, how did he know exactly what to do to - _

_ “_Gonnacome!” Mickey mumbled. “I’m gonna -”

He was practically convulsing as Ian stroked him to the finish line, the redhead’s left hand still covering his mouth. He tried his best to stifle grunts and moans as his semen splattered the dirt below them. Mickey felt Ian thrust into him only a few more times before shooting his warm load inside of him.

As they came down from their post-orgasm highs, Mickey was so caught up in the moment, he barely noticed the redhead’s lips on his neck, sucking and biting. Mickey’s first instinct was to push him away and kick his ass for crossing the line yet again. He thought Gallagher learned the first time, but apparently the message hadn’t sunk in.

“Hey! The fuck you doing, Gallagher?” Mickey said, reaching his hand back to push the flame-haired head away from his neck. “I told you when we did it in the fuckin’ shower. I don’t want none of that girly shit.”

Ian quickly pulled out and wiped himself down with tissues before sheepishly staring back at Mickey. “Sorry,” he quickly said as he tucked his dick back into his pants. “Didn’t mean to go too far. Old habits die hard.”

A dark eyebrow rose on Mickey’s forehead. “Oh, it’s habit, huh? Not for me it ain’t, but I guess that’s somethin’ else I’m gonna have to get used to with all this shit going on.”

“Mickey,” Ian started, “if you aren’t comfortable yet with kissing, that’s fine. Just know it’s something we used to do, and although I miss it, we’ll move along at your pace.”

“I just hope you didn’t leave goddamn marks on me, cuz I’ll rip your tongue out of your head if I go home and find any.”

“There aren’t any marks. I promise. But we’ll get there. Hopefully soon.”

“I guess.” Mickey kicked absentmindedly at the ground under his boot, covering the mess he’d made with a fresh layer of dirt. “So...you were sayin’ we both dropped out? I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised about me, cuz all I ever got out of this fuckin’ shithole was a place to deal without worryin’ about getting shot.”

“Yeah. I ended up leaving a couple of months after you did.” Ian looked very much like he was not telling Mickey the entire truth again, and had his thousand-mile stare.

“Why’s that? You seem like you have a pretty good noggin on your shoulders. Said you had to leave the Army cuz of medical shit, right? You got a...what’s it called, a compassionate release? When they feel bad for you cuz you’re sick?”

“Compassionate release is from prison,” Ian said. “In the Army, it’s a medical discharge when somebody can’t serve anymore due to an illness keeping them from being able to perform their duties. I was sick, but that’s not what happened. I didn’t...leave the usual way I would have for a medical discharge. It’s a long story, but I didn’t make it out of basic training.”

Mickey scratched his head. “Why’d you end up leaving, then? When we were at the dugouts, you said you’re better now, but you still have to keep seein' doctors. So you’re not actually better? Makes no sense.”

Ian sighed. “I don’t know how much of this you’re going to understand. I can try to explain, but it kills me that we can’t be how we used to be - you getting it...getting _ me. _You were the only one who was always there for me, more so than my own family even was.”

Mickey wanted to tell him to skip over the sappy horseshit, but he bit his tongue. “Just spit it out, Private Ryan. You say you’re sick and they booted your ass from the Army. Well, you don’t look like you’re dyin’...”

“Mick, it’s not the kind of illness where you can see someone is sick. It’s bipolar disorder. A mental illness. Like when someone is ill and needs pills in order to feel better - but I can’t just take a week’s worth, or even a month’s worth and it’s gone. It doesn’t go away. I have a mood disorder where I have to take antidepressants, mood stabilizers and antipsychotics to manage the episodes of highs and lows I get. When I was first diagnosed, I had to go to a psych ward.”

Mickey chewed on his lip as he tried to process this. He knew people went to mental hospitals from what he’d seen on TV and in movies, but this wasn’t what he’d seen in real life. Mickey reached wildly inside his brain for the first example he thought of, hoping it wouldn’t be insulting.

“You mean like in _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? _You were locked in a nuthouse?”

Ian exhaled. “No. Not exactly. That’s Hollywood, and the novel it’s based on is even older. What they used to actually do to mentally ill people in real life was really fucked up. But that’s not what they did. They helped me.”

“You don’t look like you’re acting funny. No talkin' to yourself or voices or anything, as far as I can tell. Sounds like whatever they’re doing to you is good. Just lemme know if you start seein' aliens or God or whatnot.”

“As long as I take my meds and they’re working, which they are, I can function pretty well. Otherwise I act really strange and do all sorts of impulsive things that are bad for me, and would be really bad for you. I hurt a lot of people, emotionally, the times I got that way. Including you.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t remember, then. What’d you do, Gallagher?”

“Long story. But the last time I stopped taking my meds, I did something that got me some hard time.”

Ian looked like this wasn’t a topic he enjoyed, and Mickey didn’t know what Ian was capable of doing - but since he was open and honest, he figured he’d go for broke. _ Did he run some poor motherfucker over with a car and turn him into a vegetable or some shit? _

“You fuck somebody up while you were on one of your episodes or some shit?”

“No. Nothing I did while I was manic was violent, per se. My stint in prison was for...a property crime.”

“That all? Better than a lot of what my family has done over the years. Couple of my uncles and older cousins have done time for assault and battery, armed robbery and all the other good shit, so that’s fuckin’ nothin’.”

“Guess so,” Ian mumbled. “But can we talk about something else? I’m well now, and it will never happen again.”

“Fine by me.” Mickey pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Ian. He was fine with changing the subject or not talking at all for a while since he now had a lot of information to process. He wondered if this was a big thing - Ian opening up about his illness, though from the sound of things, this was something he knew at one point, and he had even helped the guy out when no one else could.

They decided to head back to the house and clean up some before Mandy came over the next day. Not that he gave two shits, but she’d be pleased with his progress. Mickey was working now and getting along with Ian. Fuck, maybe he cared a little bit what his sister thought of him since they’d always tried to have each other’s backs. 

On the walk home, Mickey decided to make some idle chit chat and see what he could get out of Gallagher. “So, you said something about me looking after you when you were sick? That’s a pretty big leap from hookin’ up in my room…”

“Yeah. But like I said, we’d spent some time together. You, uh, actually got a job at the Kash and Grab the summer after you finished your first stint in juvie.”

“No shit? You never told me I worked there. Who was the dumb fuck who hired me?” So this construction gig wasn’t his first legit employment. 

“It was Linda. She was pregnant at the time. Single. Guess she liked having you there as security. And I might have had a hand in it,” Ian added.

“Huh. Guess you were looking out for me, too.”

“Yeah, I tried. And truth be told, I wanted an excuse to be near you and...”

_ Oh, fuck. He was starting with the sappy shit again. _

“...keep an eye on you and shit. Didn’t want to see you back in juvie, but you did end up violating your probation and going back.” 

“Juvie again?!” If Mickey seemed shocked, he wasn’t. There was fuck all he could do about his criminal past now.

Ian cursed under his breath. “Shit. Sorry, Mick. I’m not supposed to be saying all this. Guess I got carried away.”

Mickey shrugged. “Say whatever the fuck you want. It’s not like I remember anything.”

_ Jesus. I’m a Milkovich through and through. No surprises there. Juvie not once, but twice. A high school dropout and at least one tour of duty in prison. _

They continued on to the house in silence. When they got back, everything was dark, and Iggy had fucked off to God knows where. Mickey had actually been looking forward to seeing him; he could have used some comic relief.

Ian must have figured out Mickey wasn’t in a chatty mood anymore and went about straightening things up. He disappeared into the bathroom for awhile, sounded like he was cleaning it. Mickey started to tackle the stack of dishes on the counter, not his favorite task by any stretch of the imagination, but it gave him a chance to let his mind wander.

His thoughts drifted back to their time just hours ago at the bleachers, Ian watching him all nervous-like, hoping for something to click. It wasn’t long after they’d walked a lap around the track and surveyed the grounds that Ian had pulled on his arm and led him to an isolated area under the bleachers.

There was something about the way Ian looked at him, right before they started frantically unbuckling each other’s belts, that caused Mickey’s breath to catch in his throat—not when they were under the bleachers and he was too focused on Ian getting on him. But now, as he stood alone in the kitchen, suds up to his elbows. He gripped the counter as a string of memories flooded his mind, overwhelming him.

_ Mickey wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see when Mandy picked him up from juvie, but he definitely was not expecting to see Ian Gallagher waiting there for him. He wasn’t displeased by this, but he tried to play it cool. _

_ “The hell's he doing here?” Mickey asked. _

_ “He thought I needed protection,” replied Mandy. Mickey knew it was a crock of shit. _

_ This kid actually gives two fucks about me, Mickey thought. I’ve been stuck in juvie all these months, and here he is, waiting for me and giving some lame excuse about needing to protect Mandy. And the cocky little shit is putting his arm around me like we’re old pals, but the hell if I’m going to give him the upper hand right now. _

_ And then later that day, we were walking together to the dugouts - the goddamn dugouts. _

Mickey paused and shook his head with the realization that he himself had recreated this memory with Ian, not even realizing they’d been to the dugouts before. No wonder Ian had looked like the cat who swallowed the canary, like certain things were burned into the DNA of their relationship history.

_ “You ready to go again, or you, uh, need some time, Firecrotch?” _

It felt like a gut punch as the memories of that summer night - the talk about Ian wanting to forge a future and get out of the South Side, and Mickey’s lamentation of being “fucked for life” - came rushing back to him.

_ Between the fucking they were doing at the dugouts - however many years ago it was - and Mickey ragging on Ian for wanting to lay down under the stars and whisper sweet nothings to each other, there were actual feelings. They were connecting, and as much as Mickey would have liked to deny it, this hidden spark of concern and affection he was feeling towards Ian Gallagher was growing. _

He realized something else: it wasn’t just that night, it had been the entire summer. Earlier, Mickey struggled to remember the job Ian told him about, which he’d laughed off as an impossibility. Sure enough, he began to recall bits and pieces of days working side by side together, and nights sneaking off to wherever they could be together and not get caught.

_They were in the back of the Kash and Grab, going at it in the cooler as usual, having made sure to put the “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign up and lock the door. It_ _was the first time Mickey had agreed to lay down on his back and let Ian get on top of him, his lips dangerously close to Mickey’s until the brunet hissed at him, “Don’t you fucking dare, Gallagher.”_

_ Mickey had been enjoying it more than he’d been expecting, until a voice coming from behind them nearly made his heart stop. _

_ “Hello, boys. The front door was locked, so I came in the back - no pun intended. You might want to check the locks.” _

_ That fucking piece of shit, Frank, found his way inside when they thought they were alone. The fear overwhelmed Mickey - the fear of his father finding out he was involved with a dude, and then there was a sudden realization he was going to lose Ian. He was either going to kill Ian’s father to keep him from sharing what he’d seen, or he was going to have to distance himself from Ian altogether - or maybe both. _

_ This secret they’d been indulging in wasn’t just between them anymore. Shit had just gotten real, and Ian wasn’t going to let him end things - no, the kid was going to fight tooth and nail, and cling to his hopeless fantasies that they were going to have some kind of happy ending. _

_ “What, you think we're boyfriend and girlfriend here? You're nothin’ but a warm mouth to me.” _

_ Mickey spent days looking for Frank to end him, knowing Ian had probably warned the bastard. Gallagher didn’t fucking get it, and Mickey was sick of having this thing hanging over his head, a literal death sentence if Terry got wind of it. He said the cruelest things he could imagine to Ian to shake him, and his plan was to carry out his threat to kill Frank. He’d never killed anyone before, but he’d seen his father do it. _

_But when the opportunity finally presented itself, he couldn’t do it. Those sad, desperate green eyes popped into view when Mickey was on the cusp of putting a bullet into Frank and ending everyone’s misery. Mickey realized he needed to remove himself from the temptation should it strike him again. _

_ “Does that violate my probation?” _

_ Those were his last words after hitting a police officer, knowing he was on his way back to juvie, but at least he hadn’t killed Frank Gallagher and maybe, just maybe, Ian would forgive him for breaking his heart. _


	13. Chapter 13

Ian woke up the next morning to a shouting match between Iggy and Mickey, angry voices ricocheting off the kitchen walls into the living room. Ordinarily, their brotherly battles revolved around who owned whose ass in _Mario Kart_, but this sounded slightly edgier. 

“Why didn’t _ you _ go to the fuckin’ store, bitch?” one of them yelled. Though he was still groggy, Ian was pretty sure this voice was Mickey’s.

“What the fuck were you doing all day, huh? Dickin' around with Gallagher? And I mean it literally!” _That was definitely Iggy. _

“You don’t even know what that word means, dumbass!”

Iggy scoffed. “It means your boyfriend _ literally _ had his dick up your ass!”

“Fuck off!”

Ian heard Mickey storm out of the kitchen, and couldn’t decide if he should pretend to be asleep or go ahead and face the riled-up brunet. He chose the latter, scrambling to sit up, his legs tangled in the blankets.

“Mick, I, uh—”

“Get your clothes on. We’re goin’ to the store! We got no food to eat in here cuz my brother is a fuckin’ dumbass.”

“Huh?”

Mickey kept walking towards the front door and yelled, “Meet you outside.”

Ian pulled his jeans on over his boxers and grabbed the t-shirt he’d worn yesterday. Mickey hadn’t said much to him before they’d gone to bed, and he had no idea what caused the conflict with Iggy. Ian was surprised Mickey hadn’t shot down Iggy’s use of the word “boyfriend,” but he didn’t want to get overly thrilled for no reason. Maybe he was too busy arguing to have even noticed.

After putting his shoes and coat on, Ian hurried outside to find the older man pacing back and forth on the sidewalk with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. He muttered “finally” when he saw the redhead appear outside. 

They were a few minutes into their walk before Ian asked Mickey if he was okay.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ great! My asswipe of a brother lit into me first thing this morning about the damn grocery shopping. He knows I don’t have any money, but he says we need to start helpin’ with the bills. No shit, Sherlock, but can I get my damn paycheck first?”

Ian waited patiently for Mickey to finish his rant, agreeing silently that while what Iggy said sounded pretty shitty, he couldn’t entirely blame the older Milkovich: he was likely feeling the effects of extra mouths to feed and other people encroaching on his space. Eventually, Ian was planning on asking Mickey to move in with him at the Gallagher house. Not that they’d have much privacy, but it felt more like home. 

“Cat got your tongue, Gallagher?” asked Mickey, as Ian realized he was leading them in the direction of what used to be the Kash and Grab. Ian almost chuckled to himself.

“Just wanted you to have your say. Guess this situation is getting to all of us.”

“Situation? You mean, _ me_?” Mickey took a final drag from his cigarette and flung the butt against the curb. 

“No,” Ian replied calmly. “Not you, just...we all get frustrated sometimes. And Iggy probably hasn’t had permanent roommates for awhile. Some of your other random family members are probably in and out at times. I’m sure it gets old.”

“Fucker is actin’ like this is all my fault. And I’m trying: I even remembered some more shit last night.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ian raised his eyebrows, hoping Mickey would be more forthcoming about the details and not brush them off. 

“Yeah. Maybe what you’ve been doing to trigger my memories is helping.” Mickey slowed in his tracks, and they both stopped at the edge of the curb, not in any hurry to cross the street. Mickey took out another cigarette and offered one to Ian, which he accepted.

Mickey lit both cigarettes, and Ian took a slow drag from his, exhaling and watching the smoke mix with the cold mist of the air. The sun was bright for the time of year, but the temperatures were frigid. Though they hadn’t talked much about it, the holidays were coming up. Ian wondered if Mickey would have most of his memories back by Christmas.

“Anything you want to share?” Ian spoke up.

“Well...I guess going to the dugouts was my idea, huh? Back then and now.” Mickey smirked, and Ian knew he’d made the connection between what they’d done years and just days ago. “I remember that summer now...the one we spent together, most of it. Before your old man walked in on us at the Kash and Grab.”

“Yeah…”

_ God, that was a miserable couple of days. _Ian tried to keep Mickey from finding Frank, knowing he was likely to off the guy and end up back in juvie or worse.

“So...I guess I was gonna kill your dad to keep him quiet, and I may have said some things to you that were…” Mickey’s voice trailed off. “I know you were protecting him, but you couldn’t get it through your thick skull that I needed Frank to keep his damn mouth shut. What with my own dad being a psycho and all.”

This almost sounded like an apology, or at least the closest he was going to get out of this version of Mickey. Back when they were in prison together, he and Mickey had gotten better about talking through their shit and acknowledging when they could have done better.

“I know, Mick. It’s just...I figured Frank wouldn’t say anything. He had more to gain by holding that secret over us. But I know what a piece of garbage your dad is, how much he hates gay people. You had every right to worry.”

As they got closer to the former Kash and Grab, Mickey flicked his still-burning cigarette onto the sidewalk. “Iggy said my dad tried to kill me when I came out. I don’t remember, but everything you guys have been telling me so far checks out. Anyway, I want to know...what happened next? I went back to juvie, and then what?”

“Oh, uh…” Ian figured it was a good thing Mickey wanted to know more, rather than continuing to resist the idea of them being together. Things were far from how they used to be, but their banter was more natural and much less strained. Ian didn’t feel like he was walking on eggshells, though he was still unsure of how much to say and how much to let Mickey discover on his own. He decided to tell him a few more things, but keep it vague.

“Well...you got out eventually, and we more or less resumed...things.”

“More or less?”

“We would hang out. At the bleachers. And at some abandoned buildings, too. You know, wherever we could find a private place. But I didn’t exactly _ wait _ for you.”

“Don’t remember asking you to,” Mickey huffed.

“You _ were _ going to kill my dad,” Ian reminded him.

“Like you gave two shits, bitch.” Mickey rolled his eyes as he leaned against the exterior of the store. “So, let's see these buildings since we already paid a visit to the bleachers.”

“What about the groceries?”

“Fuck it. I’m on a roll with this memory shit. Can’t quit now.”

Ian wasn’t going to argue. “Okay. Let’s go.”

It was a short ride on the L to the part of town where two listless youths had once spent many an afternoon just goofing around, having time to themselves and not worrying about anyone questioning their relationship until it all went to hell. Eventually, their hideaway had gone from being a retreat for both of them to the scene of a brutal fight, Ian trying to elicit an admission from Mickey that he was gay and Mickey responding by beating him to the ground. 

As they neared the site, Ian started to regret mentioning this place again, but a loud whistle from the brunet distracted him.

“Fuck, this side of town went hipster,” Mickey remarked, sounding more bored than impressed.

As Ian began to pay more attention to their surroundings, he also noticed how things seemed a little...off. After they’d walked aimlessly for a few more blocks, it dawned on him. They’d already passed by the spot he was looking for; the buildings were no longer there. Now, massive apartment complexes, cafes, and small shops lined the streets. Ian felt a wave of nostalgia hit him, quickly replaced by relief in knowing a painful relic from their past was gone.

“Yeah, Mick. Looks like they demolished what I wanted to show you. I guess some investors came in to clean up the area.”

“You serious?” Mickey actually seemed disappointed. “Fuck.”

Ian paused for a moment. “It’s fine. We’ll go somewhere else, see if anything comes back. We can get some food.”

Mickey agreed. Ian, hoping this would work, thought of the bar where Ned had taken him for drinks the afternoon when Mickey’s jealousy became quite apparent. If nothing had changed, there were restaurants nearby.

It was another ride on the L, but once they’d arrived, Ian breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, the Fountain was still there in all of its glory, and he spotted a coffee shop across the street where they could grab a bite to eat.

“Wait here, Mick. I’ll get you something,” he offered. 

“The fuck? You ain’t leaving me alone to get hit on by every queer walking by.” Mickey must have picked up on the vibe of the neighborhood.

“Come on, then.” Ian checked for cars before crossing into the middle of the street. He paused to wait for Mickey, recalling the ruckus they’d caused here years ago that ended in a bloodied Ned lying in the street. He studied Mickey’s face for any kind of reaction, but got only a look of confusion and annoyance in return.

“Get the fuck out of the street, dumbass,” he muttered, pulling on the redhead’s arm as he brushed past him. “I’m hungry.”

They entered the coffee shop, ordered their food, and sat in comfortable silence over coffee and bagels. The silence came only after Mickey pointed out they’d spent more at the coffee shop than the groceries would have cost had they just gone to the store like they’d planned.

Ian shrugged. “Maybe I can pick up an extra shift or two at work. Don’t want you worrying about money.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about it. It don’t grow on trees, Mr. Monopoly. But I would like to know more about the bar where you work. Don’t know why you’re keepin’ it a secret. Is it that place?” Mickey pointed through the window towards the Fountain.

“No, it’s not. But I’ve been to that place before. For happy hour.”

“Congrats, man.” Mickey finished his coffee and slammed the empty cup on the table. “Did you go with me? Is that why we’re here?”

Ian smirked. “Not exactly _ with _ you. But you may have shown up outside and caused a scene.”

Mickey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and got up to toss out their trash. “I did, huh? Did I get arrested? Really don’t seem like it was one of our better memories.”

“You didn’t get arrested. But it wasone of our better memories.” Ian figured he better stop feeding Mickey information, even though part of the memory belonged to Ian alone. Ned had been an interesting distraction, but maybe Ian wouldn’t have gotten involved with Jimmy/Steve’s dad had Mickey been willing to occupy his time instead of that of Angie Zago.

“Let me guess. You brought one of your twinks to that place to make me jealous.”

“I wouldn’t call Ned a twink.”

“Oh, the fucker has a name then. _Ned_. Very distinguished,” Mickey replied in a mocking tone.

_ Was Ian hearing things, or did Mickey sound jealous right now? _

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Ian interjected. Let’s get the groceries and go back to your place. Mandy’s probably there by now and wondering where the fuck we are.”

“Sure, sure. Change the subject. I want to hear more about _ Ned_. What made him so fuckin’ special?”

Ian couldn’t stop himself from saying the familiar words: “Well...he wasn’t afraid to kiss me.”

Mickey didn’t have a response. 

They were quiet as they rode the L back to their neighborhood, stopping at the former Kash and Grab before going back to the Milkovich house. Mandy was there to greet them, and they made an effort to engage in conversation and update her on how things were going with their jobs. It was only awkward when she asked point blank, “So how's it going with you two?”

Neither said a word. She moved on to another topic, probably planning to corner each of them separately for the scoop, but it would have to be another day. After a late lunch, Ian got ready for his shift at the Alibi, and Mandy headed to the hotel to make sure nothing had gone to shit while she was away.

The evening was surprisingly uneventful, since Frank never showed up and Tommy and Kermit were busy chatting with Kevin, who was on some tirade about how he was getting old and wanted to reclaim some of his former youth. Ian got uncomfortable and tuned out the discussion once it turned to Kevin returning to the Fairy Tail and being stuck working “Daddy Night.” The rest of the night was a boring slog.

Once Ian returned home late, he had a light snack before settling in: or so it seemed. Mickey had apparently decided to wait until Iggy went to bed to summon Ian from the couch to his room. There was no mention of the conversation from earlier in the day, just a mutual but unspoken desire to be together. Wordlessly, they fucked in the darkness, neither of them needing light to navigate one another’s bodies, but Ian knew to keep his lips off of Mickey.

Afterward, he returned to his usual spot and set his alarm to get up early so he could make everyone breakfast, since tomorrow was a Monday and everybody had to go back to work. As he was lying awake on the couch, Ian didn’t spend much time worrying about the slight tension between him and Mickey. Things were better now than they had been just a few days ago, and he figured Mickey was processing everything. Ian eventually fell into a dreamless sleep, hoping things would continue down this trajectory in the coming week.

* * *

Ian knew it was wishful thinking - he didn’t really want to dwell on it for too long - but it seemed Mickey was starting to get more comfortable as they settled into the routine of the new workweek. It made Ian feel better to see bits and pieces of the love of his life returning, but what happened on Thursday morning, Thanksgiving of all days, was a shock that nearly stopped Ian’s heart.

He was standing in front of the stove when he heard Mickey stumble in. After turning to catch a glimpse of the bleary-eyed brunet, he froze in utter shock as Mickey came up behind him, patted him on the ass and tilted Ian’s chin low enough to plant a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. Mickey was gone before Ian could say a word, leaving the blushing redhead with only his thoughts and a very wide smile to take residence on his lips.

Unsurprisingly, a sarcastic voice soon came from the bedroom as though nothing had happened. “You got any pizza logs at your clown car family’s house, or we just havin’ turkey?”

Ian snorted under his breath as he began to get his things ready to head over to the house. With this newly-more-comfortable Mickey, it occurred to Ian: he could try to push the limits of just how comfortable Mickey was spending time with him. So he’d invited all the Milkoviches over for Thanksgiving.

Predictably, Iggy was also open to the idea of appealing to his stomach. After Ian reassured his siblings Iggy wouldn’t try to get Carl back into dealing or teach Franny how to play with matches, Lip and Debbie gave their approval of the Milkovich visitors. Mandy was stuck at work at the hotel, but Ian quietly suspected she manipulated her schedule for an excuse to not have to deal with Lip and Tami. The few times Ian brought up Lip, he could see her tense up and get suspiciously quiet.

“You know, if you don’t mind dealing with my ‘clown car family’ for a little longer, there’s always Gallagher movie night,” Ian said. “Carl has been trying to push for _ Die Hard_. He insists that since it’s a Christmas movie and it’s acceptable to start with those after Thanksgiving, it’s time to break out some classic Bruce Willis.”

“Sounds good to me. Yippee-kai-yay, motherfucker.”

They burst out laughing, and Ian was instantly transported back to another movie night: one he tried hard to avoid associating with anything else that came after it. Still, it had been a good time, with Mickey becoming much more open and welcoming Ian over for the impromptu sleepover at the Milkovich house so many years ago, and now they could make more memories and enjoy this calm before things went bad.

“Hey,” Ian said, trying very hard to pick his next few words carefully. “If you want to stay late at our house, bring snacks or whatever else, feel free to do so. Oh, and...we’re super casual and all, so we don’t give a shit if you wear your old sweatpants or whatever. Pack a backpack of your shit if you want, even.”

Ian paused and he felt himself getting nervous as Mickey’s eyebrows raised slowly, but the next words out of his mouth made it feel like a huge weight was taken off Ian’s shoulders. Mickey always was fairly good at reading people and seeing through bullshit, and it seemed his memory loss didn’t change that.

“Was I just invited to a sleepover?” Mickey said, an incredulous look on his face.

Another wave of nostalgia came rushing back to Ian, and he answered the only way he could.

“Fuck you, is what you were invited to. Pack your shit and let’s go.”

As Iggy, Ian and Mickey arrived at the blue house on Wallace Street, they opened the door to be greeted by the wafting smell of cooking turkey. Tami was making mashed potatoes as Debbie was putting a meat thermometer into the bird she had just taken out of the oven.

“Yo,” Lip said as he stuck his head out from the fridge, carrying the gallon of milk Tami requested to moisten the potatoes. Liam waved from where he was sitting on the couch, watching TV with Franny as she divided her attention between the show and the coloring book Ian bought for her the previous week.

“Yo,” Iggy replied back. Mickey looked around the living room and kitchen curiously, resembling an out-of-the-box Buzz Lightyear from_ Toy Story _ who thought he’d actually landed on a strange planet and was testing the air.

“Ian!” Debbie said eagerly, turning her attention from carving the turkey to run over and give Ian a hug. Carl grinned at him before coming over and clapping his big brother on the back.

“What’s going on?” Ian asked. “Need any help with dinner?”

“Nah,” Lip said. “We got it taken care of, but you can help set the table. Lieutenant and Sergeant Slaughter, you guys sit tight.” He snickered and got return fire in the form of twin middle fingers from the Milkovich brothers.

Once they’d all sat down to dinner, conversation remained light. Debbie discussed how Franny was coming along with pre-K, while Liam went on about something related to black history since he’d been on a “learning more about his heritage” kick lately. Then, the Gallaghers got annoyed after Carl spilled that his graduation ceremony from military school had taken place months earlier - unbeknownst to them - but he hadn't told anyone in his family about it, or that he was now blacklisted from the military.

“It’s not like any of you would have come to it, anyway,” Carl grumbled. “Ian probably would have, but he was in the clink.”

They were almost done with dinner when Tami suddenly stood up from the table, in visible discomfort, and mumbled about having to use the bathroom. Concerned, Lip got up to follow her as she walked, more like a waddle due to her late stage of pregnancy, toward the stairs. Then, she doubled over and loudly cried out.

“She’s having contractions!” Lip shouted toward the rest of the family, who were all wearing worried expressions. “Start packing all of the shit in the car!” He grabbed Tami’s keys and threw them to Ian.

Ian hurried outside to drive Tami’s small red car to the front, after which he helped her into the passenger seat. Debbie followed them with Franny in tow, declaring she could coach Tami through her labor.

“You want me to come, too?” Ian offered. “I helped a few women in labor when I was an EMT.”

“No thanks,” Lip said. “We’re good. Keep an eye on everything while we’re gone. Leave your phone on and I’ll let you know what happens. I texted Brad. He said Tami’s family will be meeting us at the hospital.”

Surprisingly, both Carl and Liam appeared outside, having decided to go to the hospital as well in spite of their initial desire to stay home and watch _ Die Hard_. It seemed as though Mickey had “convinced” them both to go to keep the rest of the Gallaghers from losing their shit. Needless to say, Ian knew Mickey had ulterior motives for a house devoid of Gallaghers.

Debbie continued to insist on riding in Lip’s car to be able to help Tami, until Lip pointed out they would need two cars in order to fit everyone, so Debbie needed to drive to the hospital in her car as well. As the two cars pulled away, Ian walked back in the house to find Mickey and Iggy still sitting at the table, looking like they had no clue what they should be doing.

“Well, there’s jack shit we can do to help. They may even send her back home if she hasn’t dilated,” Ian said, still looking somewhat concerned.

Iggy shrugged, and Mickey had a look of disinterest on his face.

“Guess you’re talkin' about her lady parts, but I don’t need to know. If there’s nothin' we can do, let’s stick to our plan and watch _ Die Hard_.”

Ian tried to keep his mind off of his brother and Tami as he got up and put the DVD for the requested movie into the Xbox One. After Mickey distributed the snacks around the couch and settled in, the redhead became acutely aware of the space between himself and Mickey. Ian sat down next to him, leaving a small space in case Mickey was uncomfortable, but so far he had made no attempt to move away or get up.

As the movie played, Ian occasionally looked over at the brunet, who was eating his barbecue Pringles in silence. Ian thought back to nights they spent here after the Army fiasco. They were by no means stable, but he couldn’t forget the moments when he and Mickey curled up here to watch TV, oblivious to the Gallaghers around them, and then later at the Milkovich house. It was nice to momentarily forget the bad hands life had dealt both of them.

When the credits began to roll, Iggy stood up from the chair where he was sitting. “Time for me to leave you two assholes to your fuckin’,” he said, smirking. “Since all three of us know that’s what you’re gonna do soon as I walk through the door. Don’t need to see that shit.”

“Not like we’d want you to see it, anyway,” Ian said. “Then again, you are weird and probably have heard shit at the house…”

“Fuckin’ gross!” Mickey interjected.

“Yeah, I’m gettin' the fuck outta here. Have fun rubbing dicks.”

Both of them flipped off Iggy’s back as the door slammed behind him. For a second, there was an awkward pause. Ian hoped he hadn’t gone too far with his comment: not that Mickey was prudish about vulgar remarks, but he still had to tread carefully with his boyfriend.

To his relief, Mickey stood up, stretched and gave him one of his smirks. “So...how long we have the house to ourselves?”

“Not sure. Could be all night as long as Debbie doesn’t bring Carl, Liam and Franny home. No texts from Lip yet.”

“Guess it gives us time to do whatever the fuck we want, and I got a couple of ideas.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Brought some..let’s say _ other stuff _ with me when I was packin’ to come over here for the night.” Mickey suddenly looked like he’d become years younger.

“Is that so?” Ian asked, still confused by where this was going.

“Yeah. Soon as you tell me where your room is,” Mickey said. “Upstairs? I bet you got a million bedrooms for everybody.”

It occurred to Ian: based on his current extent of memory, Mickey would not be able to recall the layout of the Gallagher house, nor the bedroom where he once lived with Ian. It seemed like half a lifetime ago Ian had asked Mickey if they were a couple and received the response, “Of course we are.”

_ And we still are, but it kills me that you don’t remember it. I’d stay by your side even if you never do again. _

Ian led the older man upstairs, realizing his room wouldn’t have been familiar to Mickey even if he had his memory back. When Fiona slept here, there was never any need for his boyfriend to come in. It was an immeasurable step up from the room he used to share with his brothers before she left, and he thought wistfully back to the days back in Beckman when he dreamed of sharing this room with Mickey.

Mickey flopped down onto the bed and looked expectantly at Ian. “So...I said there was some shit I packed? Well, now you get to see it. I ain’t doing this for everybody and all, so be glad I am now. I just really want somebody else to stick these up my ass besides me.”

“You mean…” Ian trailed off, trying to make any sense of what he was hearing as Mickey began to rummage through his backpack. His heart almost stopped when his boyfriend pulled out a string of beads he had not seen in years.

Sure, they’d acquired more toys since then, starting after Ian returned from the Army and they were living at the Gallagher house before Mickey came out at the Alibi. Mickey decided he wanted some, so Ian hit up a sex shop in Boystown before one of his shifts. It dawned on Ian that they were likely in the attic with all of his other “Mickey era” relics Ian couldn’t bear to look at after the whole Sammi fiasco, but he couldn’t bear to throw out, either.

_ But these particular beads? _ Ian thought they had long since been thrown away. He wondered where Mickey had been keeping them this entire time, since they never came up again.

The brunet chuckled at what Ian knew must have been an expression of shock and confusion. “You’re fuckin’ funny. You don’t gotta look act like they're gonna bite you. I just want you to take these and use them. You stick ‘em in my ass and then pull them out real slow.”

“Where the -” Ian started. “Where did you have these stored? You showed these to me back when we were together, but we never got around to using them. It was my fault.”

Ian didn’t want to stop Mickey from exploring this path, but he hoped the beads wouldn’t trigger any related memories. As it was, he was dreading what was likely to come, for now wanting to cling to the illusion of innocence until the impending crash Ian would have laid down his life to avoid. _ It’s all we’ve got for now. Please let him enjoy it. _

“There’s a loose floorboard in my room,” Mickey responded. “I use that spot to hide shit I don’t want my dad or brothers to find. Had these in a box underneath it, so it’s a good thing you didn’t throw them around for Iggy to see.”

_ The fuck? _Ian wondered how he’d never known about this spot under the floor when he was living there. _ Maybe Mickey used it to hide illegal shit to keep me out of trouble, _ Ian supposed. _ So nice of him if that was the case, but now it might explain his missing gun stash. Shit. _

“Gallagher, you listenin’? Said I want you to use these, but you don’t gotta. Used them plenty on myself. Probably why your dick didn’t tear me apart the first time we fucked. Not the first time I took something about your size.”

“Yeah,” Ian answered slowly. “Yes, Mickey. I want to do this for you...now that we have the chance. Want to make you feel good.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Gallagher, you listenin'? Said I want you to use these, but you don’t gotta. Used them plenty on myself. Probably why your dick didn’t tear me apart the first time we fucked. Not the first time I took somethin' about your size.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who was looking at him like he’d just seen a ghost. The redhead had not yet responded to his inquiry, and the older man supposed maybe Gallagher had never seen a set of anal beads before. It would have been very funny, had he not been so confused. Maybe they had a mishap where Mickey had to be rushed to the ER because a similar set of these damn things got lost inside him and had to be removed? _ That would have to be a question for later_, he decided.

Eventually, Ian answered, “Yeah. Yes, Mickey. I want to do this for you...since we have the chance. Want to make you feel good.”

A slight twitch at the corner of Mickey’s mouth turned into a full-on smirk as he leaned over to set the beads on the nightstand. “Great, now that you’ve gotten with the program, mumbles, let’s do this. Not sure I gotta explain to you again how to, but it ain’t exactly rocket science.”

Ian snorted in response. “Yeah, I know how to use these. We’ve used toys before...just not these particular ones. How about you shut up, and take your damn clothes off.”

_ Well, okay then. _If Gallagher was all in, he was all in. Mickey stripped off his shirt, jeans and socks until he was sitting on the bed in just his boxers. He looked expectantly at Ian, who was still standing in the middle of the room, and Mickey waited for him to follow suit. Once they were both naked, Mickey retrieved the beads from where he’d just put them.

“Where do you keep the lube in here?” he asked, shifting the toy from one hand to the other. He could just start rooting through the drawers, but he figured it wouldn’t do him any favors. This was a strange house to Mickey. So far, Gallagher had respected _ his _ boundaries.

Ian walked over to the nightstand, opened the drawer and pulled out what looked like a new bottle of lube. “Looks like you came prepared for this, huh, Gallagher?” Mickey quipped.

“Guess so,” Ian responded. “How do you want to do this? Want to go ass up, face down?”

Wordlessly, Mickey turned onto his stomach and got into the requested position, turning his head to the side and resting his head on his elbows. He could hear Ian’s sharp intake of breath behind him as the beads clicked in his hands.

“Goddamn, Mick…” Ian said.

“You gonna just stare at it, or are you gonna stick those beads up it?” Mickey protested.

There was still a surprisingly long pause, and part of Mickey wondered if he had gone too far or touched on something to make Ian uncomfortable, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe Ian had never seen sex toys before and was embarrassed - in which case, he’d help him as long as he was down for it, because Mickey drew the line at creepy-ass behavior like pressuring people into sex. But it was hard to hold back. The thought of Ian’s large hands and long fingers working the beads into his ass one by one was making his cock leak.

“C'mon. I ain’t gonna be here all day or my back is gonna start hurting. Fuck.”

The brunet heard the hiss of a short intake of air behind him, as well as the sound of the lube cap snapping open, followed by silence as the redhead presumably was coating his fingers in the viscous substance to prep him before he could begin inserting the beads. _ At least, I hope he has the fucking common sense to not just shove them in. Holy fuck. He might be new to this shit but he don’t seem stupid. _

The end of the mattress sunk in from Ian’s body weight as he knelt onto it, his body perpendicular to Mickey’s. Soon enough, he felt one finger, and then two breach his opening. Mickey arched his back and let out a brief sigh of relief. He felt them push in all the way as Ian scissored them, stretching his rim in the process. As he had done before, he again reflected on how much better Ian’s fingers felt than his own. Not only were they longer, but it was something about being able to let go, not put in work and enjoy it while he just buried his head in the pillow and took it. _ Don’t make me a bitch,_ he decided.

All other rational thoughts flew away from him as Ian’s fingertips rubbed the most sensitive area inside of him. He yelped loudly, panting, trying to keep from making more noises than necessary in order to keep a single shred of dignity.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed as he felt a third finger slide in alongside the others.

“You good?” Ian asked. “Do you need another one, or want to go ahead from here? These are pretty fucking big.”

A baleful blue eye turned to Ian as Mickey lifted his head off the pillow. He was annoyed by the questions and the holdup. Sure, he was glad Ian was a pretty damn good top, always ensuring his comfort before proceeding further - a good quality to have, but not so much when you’re face down on the bed and need to have your ass filled up, stat, with no more bullshit.

“Gallagher…” Mickey said, trying his best to push the neediness out of his voice and probably failing miserably, he thought. It came out sounding strained. “I’m good. Just go on and put them in already. Fuck. Hope I don’t gotta say it again for your deaf ginger ass.”

Seconds later, Mickey felt an immense sense of relief at the press of one of the large balls against his hole. He winced a little as he felt the stretch and pressure of the thick plastic bead filling him up, and the sensation of his hole closing around the string once it was in all the way.

“Better now?” Ian asked.

Mickey nodded. “Gimme another one.”

The obedient, insistent pressure began again as the next bead entered him. He let out a moan, thinking again about how fucking good this felt when he did it by himself and to himself, but this? This was fucking heaven if such a thing even existed, though he wasn’t about to get into existential bullshit: not while he was getting his ass stuffed in a way that felt so amazing.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “So fuckin’ good. Goddamn.”

He heard Ian chuckle softly, the smug bastard, but Mickey was far beyond the point of even caring. The only thing that existed for now was the incredible feeling of fullness inside him, amplified times ten when he felt a third bead being added to the others as the others moved further inside him. He writhed, muffling his moans into the pillow under his head.

“Hmmm. You’re getting loud. Love the sounds you make, Mick. So hot.”

“Mmmffph,” came the sound into the pillow. He couldn’t stand this anymore: the repeated sensation of his hole stretching slowly to take each of the beads, followed by the sudden emptiness of feeling it close around the string after the last one was fully inside, only to have it all again with the next one. He had taken three of them, which was typically what he’d get up to when he couldn’t take it anymore and just had to start jerking off, his cock hard almost to the point of being painful. Which was how it was now, Mickey realized. It felt like all the blood in his body was pooling directly into his cock as it hung heavily between his legs.

As if reading his mind, Ian leaned over Mickey, moving until his lips were near the smaller man’s ear. “Go ahead. Touch yourself. Want to see you come as I pull these beads out.”

The older man wouldn’t have cared if Ian had expressly told him not to touch his own cock, but the fact the redhead knew his body so well was hot as fuck. Mickey pumped his length furiously as Ian began to push a fourth bead inside him.

“So fuckin’ full, Gallagher. Shit,” Mickey begged, barely even recognizing his own voice with how strained and utterly desperate it sounded. If he didn’t care earlier, he sure as fuck didn’t care at all about it now. He felt full to bursting with the internal pressure of the toy Ian was now tapping with his fingers.

“You getting closer, Mick?”

“Yeah.” He gritted his teeth as his muscles began to tense up. “Get ready to pull ‘em.”

His moans took on a higher pitch as he tipped over the edge and Ian grabbed the end of the string and pulled. Mickey was unable to do anything more than convulse with the pure pleasure of both shooting his release onto the sheets and the sudden but slow removal of the beads, which Ian timed perfectly. The two sensations blended into a mind-blowing orgasm. As he tried to put said mind together into something resembling its normal, everyday order of operations, it dawned on Mickey that Ian hadn’t come yet. _ Gotta change it. Make him feel half as good as that shit did. _

“You still gotta finish,” said Mickey, still breathing heavily from the exertion. “Got an idea. Wanna do you like you did for me before.”

Ian cocked his eyebrow and sat up on the bed as Mickey turned all of his attention to the redhead’s cock, which was dripping like a faucet. It only confirmed what he already knew he wanted to do, what he really _ had _ to do.

Feeling emboldened, Mickey cautiously stuck out his tongue to tease the head. Ian panted as Mickey closed his mouth around it and began to suck lightly before swallowing it down.

Seemingly on autopilot, Mickey began to bob his head on Ian’s cock, briefly pausing to wonder why he was so much better at this than he’d expected, considering he couldn’t remember ever doing this before. Realizing he didn’t care, Mickey swallowed Ian’s cock all the way to the base until his nose was buried in his orange nest of pubes. Ian let out a choked gasp and pulled at Mickey’s hair where it was longer on top.

Ian began to lightly thrust his hips into Mickey’s face, seemingly reluctant and holding himself back. Mickey pulled all the way back before saying in a raspy voice, barely even sounding like himself: “Fuck my throat like I know you wanna fuck it. Go ahead.”

Again, he didn’t think to question it. Ian _ growled, _pushed his head roughly down onto his cock and started to thrust in and out harder, causing Mickey to moan around it. He loved it: the feel of the thick flesh stretching his throat as he opened it for Gallagher and the noises he coaxed from the redhead as Ian’s hands tangled in his hair. Mickey eagerly took all Ian had to give, wanting more as his own cock ached.

“Mickey...fuck, fuck. Going to come. Where?”

He pulled off with a soft _ pop _ and looked up with blue eyes lidded with lust as he replaced his mouth with both hands. The words tumbled out before he could stop them, with the urge to taste all of Ian Gallagher, have him release in his mouth was too strong. _ The fuck? Why am I okay with tasting another dude’s jizz? Should be real fucking nasty...but it’s not. _

“Want it in my mouth. Ready for it.”

Mickey wrapped his lips back around the head as he continued to stroke the base with one hand. Ian’s breathing became labored as he put his hand in Mickey’s hair, tightening his grip on the strands on the top of his head.

“Fuck...right now,” Ian moaned.

A gush of warm, salty fluid filled Mickey’s mouth as he mentally prepared to recoil and spit it everywhere, but this actually wasn’t half bad. He swallowed what was pooling on his tongue before sticking it out to lap at the head, from which the last few drops were leaking out. As Mickey pulled off, Ian collapsed back onto the mattress and let out a deep sigh.

“Holy fuck! Missed that so much. Your mouth is so good.”

A black eyebrow raised into an equally dark hairline. “This another thing I used to do all the time and don’t remember? Guess that’s why it didn’t taste so bad. Always hear about chicks talkin’ about how nasty it is. Sounds like they’re just a bunch of fuckin’ babies.”

Ian paused and stared at him, and Mickey once again braced himself for the accusations of saying the wrong thing yet again. The redhead’s mouth opened and then closed.

“Okay, I’m...just going to let that go,” Ian decided. “No girls I talked to have said so: it’s not for everybody, but if you say so, whatever. You used to do this all the time. You’ve given me blowjobs a ton ever since I…”

Mickey saw the thousand-yard stare starting to reappear on Ian’s face.

“What happened, Gallagher? I say somethin' else wrong again?”

“No,” said Ian slowly. “It’s...what I said reminds me of something else. Something...bad.” He sat up, but his shoulders sagged down as he readjusted himself on the bed. “There were some bad times along with the better ones. I’m really afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of what you’ll remember. Want to just enjoy this while we still can. Because I don't know how you’re going to react later. Actually, I have a really fucking good idea, which is why I’m afraid. I can’t say more. I just can’t.”

An odd mix of thoroughly confused and morbidly curious, Mickey figured he should keep his mouth shut, but his baser instincts took over. He asked, “What’s so fuckin’ bad? We kill someone together, and that’s why we both ended up in the clink? Was your shit about you getting put away for a ‘property crime’ bullshitting me? Cuz I still don’t know why we were there.”

“I’m so sorry, Mick. But it hurts too much. All I really want to say is: we had some terrible things happen. Not “we,” but rather you specifically. Long story short, you ended up in a relationship with someone else where we couldn’t be together. And I couldn’t take it. I left. We got back together, obviously, but things were never the same.”

The older man took a moment to digest this, his mind running a mile a minute until it finally clicked in his head. “Wait a sec. You said you left and didn’t come back the same. Was this when you up and joined the Army?”

To his horror, Mickey could see the start of tears forming in Ian’s green eyes. This was something he should never have brought up in the first place. _ Did Gallagher see somebody get his head blown off in whatever-Stan and it made him go batshit crazy? That why he got diagnosed with bipolar and then shipped back home? _

_ And what the fuck does him bawling his eyes out have to do with me being ‘in a relationship?’ Relationships are for pussies not fucked for life. _

“Can we stop fucking talking about this?” Ian suddenly snapped. “I just wanted to have a nice night in while we still can, with my family not here.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get mad. It’s not your fault at all.”

“Hey,” Mickey said. He felt like a jackass and he sure as shit didn’t want to be responsible for making Gallagher cry. The dude didn’t deserve any of this and was actually decent: not like any of the other people who did nothing but fail him over and over during his whole life.

“It’s fine.”

Before he thought too hard about what he was doing, or the fact he had done so this morning, Mickey leaned into Ian and kissed him before he could stop himself. If he’d fucked up again by bringing up triggering shit, circumstances justified showing Gallagher he was sorry.

* * *

After the kiss and a few more reassurances Gallagher was fine, Mickey thought they’d fall asleep right away. However, things were kicking into high gear and it didn’t seem like it would be in the cards yet. Ian was being extra yappy in between texting frantically with his brother, Carl, about Tami and the baby. He was seated across the bedroom, boxers and t-shirt on to stave off the chill in the room. Mickey was still naked but burrowed into the blankets on Ian’s bed. 

“She’s only dilated by 5 centimeters. It’s slow going. Guess they’ll give her something to move things along.”

“Translation?” asked Mickey, not well versed on the topic of childbirth.

“Basically, her vagina hasn’t opened wide enough so she can push the kid through.”

“Ah, thanks,” cringed Mickey. “Thanks.” He tossed a pillow at Ian. “C’mon. We might as well get some sleep.”

“Don’t know if I can. Was thinking about making some coffee. You want any?”

“Fuck, no.” Mickey grabbed his boxers from the end of the bed and slid them on. “You wore my ass out. Literally. I’m fuckin’ tired. Come to bed.”

Mickey wasn’t sure who was more surprised over the uncharacteristic invitation - he or Ian - but the words just slipped out, like he’d said them a million times before. There was no putting them back now, though Ian was eyeing him, probably waiting for him to make some snide comment about how Mickey had just invited him not only to bed, but to _ Ian’s _ own bed. 

He didn’t. Mickey moved over to make room, turning over to face the wall and biting into his bottom lip. He sensed Ian near him, maintaining a gap between them. At least the guy knew to give him some space. Still, Mickey felt a twitching in his legs, a familiar urge to jump out of bed and run as far away as possible. This wasn’t his thing, laying down next to some dude after sex. The mattress underneath him felt like quicksand, but instead of thrashing around to fight off the sinking sensation, he found himself relaxing against Ian’s warm body, closing his eyes and letting sleep overtake him. 

Surprisingly, Mickey slept well, especially since he had never shared a bed with anyone before, much less someone he had just fucked around with. This unexpected euphoria was interrupted an hour later by a shrill ringing noise coming from Ian’s phone.

“Oh shit! Tami’s close now! I have to go!” declared Ian, shifting out of the bed and fumbling with his clothes in the dimly-lit room. “You want to stay here, Mick?”

“Uh, yeah. No point in wakin’ up everyone at my house,” Mickey was resting on his elbows, watching Ian get ready to go. A strange sensation hit him: he realized he was actually going to miss him.

“Stay as long as you want, and eat whatever you want. I’ll see you back at your house tonight?” Ian asked, lingering in the doorway.

“You gotta work later?” Mickey was now seated on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“Depends on how Tami’s doing. And the baby.” Ian had a gleam in his eye, clearly excited about meeting his niece or nephew. Mickey could respect that, though he himself wasn’t about to get excited over a baby. _ Not my thing. _

“I’ll text you,” said Ian.

“Okay.”

“See you later.”

Before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, Mickey uttered the word “C’mere” as he stood up, and in less than a second, Ian was there in front of him, a look of confusion mixed with hope in his eyes. Mickey wanted him all over again, this man with sleepy eyes, red hair disheveled but those lips. God, those lips. What the fuck was happening? _ Is this more than just wanting to not be shown up by a fruity asshole with the stupid name of Ned? _

He thought better of it and slapped his ass. Anything more, and he would have tried to make Ian stay with him. _ Too risky_. “Be careful, Gallagher,” he muttered before flopping down on the bed and returning to the nest of blankets.

* * *

Mickey ended up sleeping in since his boss had given him the day after Thanksgiving off. He didn’t feel out of place in the Gallagher house, especially since Ian told him to stay as long as he wanted. He rolled over and checked his phone. The ginger sap sent him pictures of Lip’s kid, a baby boy they’d named Fred for some unknown reason. 

_ Everyone is doing fine. I’ll stay here a little longer then head to work. C U tonight. _

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, relieved. He guessed, for Ian’s sake, that everything was fine with the kid and nothing had gone wrong, but he didn’t have much of a connection with Lip or his baby mama. 

He threw on his clothes, stopped by the bathroom to wash his face, and went downstairs to snag a piece of pumpkin pie for his breakfast. There were plenty of leftovers: so many, in fact, Mickey decided to pack some for Mandy. She had taken the day off and was supposed to be back at the house today.

After finishing his breakfast, Mickey went upstairs to pack up his shit and head home. Ian had wrapped the beads in a plastic bag, which gave Mickey a chuckle, remembering the care the redhead took with them just hours earlier after he seemed so uncomfortable with the things when he first pulled them out.

_ Fine, _he admitted to no one in particular, as he took inventory of his stuff, closed the door to the Gallagher house and headed home. _ I like the guy. I trust him. I mean, I’ve never done anything like we did with anyone before. Never wanted to. Never felt comfortable enough. _

He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves, but by the time he arrived back on his street, it had become fruitless. Mickey was breathless, his heart pounding in his chest. An aching had settled in his chest cavity. He knew it was because of Ian, and he started to panic. Unpleasant thoughts of Terry hurting them filled his head. Iggy said their father “didn’t take it well” when he came out, and he’d tried to kill him. Terry was still in prison, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t send one of his cronies after them. Mickey shuddered. He had no idea why it hadn’t happened already.

He threw away the cigarette butt and hurried up the steps at his house. As he rushed inside, he practically threw the leftovers on the table, ignoring the greeting and perplexed look from his sister, who was drinking coffee in the living room. Mickey needed to get to his piece Ian hadn’t gotten rid of, and make sure it was loaded and in its spot. There was no real need for the gun at the moment: Terry was locked up and Ian wasn’t around, but Mickey just had this feeling, this premonition, that he needed to protect himself and Ian. 

He checked the space under the loose floorboard in his room, the same one where he’d hid the beads from Terry, his brothers and everyone else who came and went in this hovel. The gun was still in its hiding place, which gave Mickey enough reassurance for the moment. He stepped out of his room to speak to his sister.

“Everything okay?” she asked, already popping open the container of leftovers.

“Yeah, guess so…”

“You spent the night at Ian’s, huh?” She didn’t wait for his response before continuing. “That’s a big step.”

“Whatever,” Mickey muttered, plopping down on the sofa. “Don’t see what the big deal is. We used to hang out, right?”

Since she didn’t say anything else to mock him, Mandy must have known rubbing anything in at this point would be counterproductive, but she couldn’t hide her goofy-ass smile. Mickey changed the subject. 

“You should've come over for Thanksgiving. The food was decent. The company was...okay. You know, wasn’t like a holiday with Terry Milkovich.”

Mandy rolled her eyes and scoffed. “So basically, no one got cussed at, punched, or shot. And you had an actual turkey instead of a couple of cans of tuna fish?”

“Yeah, that and Lip’s baby mama had to go to the hospital. Went into labor and had the baby a few hours ago.”

“Oh? Lip has a baby now?” Mandy seemed interested, but Mickey was suspicious. She said it in a way that sounded like she had spotted a really fucked-up car wreck and knew not to stare, but did it anyway. Mickey frowned for a second, but it dawned on him that her response was more than morbid curiosity. It was tinged with jealousy.

_ The fuck? My sister banged that prick? _

“Fuck!” yelled Mickey. “You two had a thing, didn’t you? Another detail I must’ve forgotten, and for good reason. I probably need to kick his ass, don’t I? I swear, if he did anything like what I thought Firecrotch did to you, then I’m not just gonna kick his ass, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him! I don’t give a shit if he just had a kid. He’s a dead man!”

“Mickey! Calm down,” Mandy interjected. “It was a long time ago. Things got pretty bad by the end, but I’m over it. He’s got his own life, and I’m too busy to worry about guys at the moment. I had more than enough of that to last me a whole lifetime. Let it go, Mickey. Please.”

“All right. But it seems pretty funny you had to work Thanksgiving and couldn’t change your schedule around.”

“Shut the fuck up. There were no other managers there. They couldn’t bring somebody in from out of town, so I didn’t have a choice.”

The look Mandy gave him made it clear this line of questioning was over. He shrugged and went into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee, re-joining Mandy to shoot the shit about the past couple of days, nothing too specific. Mickey agreed to go Black Friday shopping with Mandy, committing to no more than a few hours. 

While she was getting ready to get in the shower and get cleaned up before they left, Mickey pulled up Netflix and scrolled through the queue. He was grateful Mandy was able to finally spring for them to have decent Internet here, instead of having to hope the neighbors hadn’t caught on that they were stealing theirs.

Mickey didn’t really care what was on, and as the program started, he went off into his own thoughts as it played in the background. Ian mentioned Mickey had gotten into a “relationship” with someone else that caused Ian to skip town. _ Who the fuck was it? _

_ He must be busting my balls. Nobody else would even be worth it. I mean...if it were anybody, it would have actually been Ian. What the fuck is this bullshit I’m feeling? I can’t stop thinking about the dude and his smiling ginger ass. Fuck, it’s like I can’t stand being away from him. _

Mickey shook his head and turned his attention to the show on Netflix, thinking back on about how life was so much simpler when all he had to do was stuff it all down and live day by day, no future or anything but the present and surviving being Terry Milkovich’s son. Simpler, yes...but also...pretty fucking empty.


	15. Chapter 15

Was it all a dream, or had Mickey actually waited up for Ian to come home from the Alibi _and_ given him permission to stay in his room? Not only in his room but in his bed?

"You look tired," he'd said, which was true. Ian had spent a large portion of the day at the hospital and then went straight to work. "It'll be too cold out here," Mickey had insisted, nodding towards his bedroom.

When Ian opened his eyes the following morning, he was nearly struck dumb by the realization of where he was and who was next to him. He’d just spent an entire night sleeping in Mickey Milkovich's bed, a milestone he hadn’t expected to be significant more than once. 

Even though Mickey’s head injury had been a complete nightmare, especially a few weeks ago when Ian feared he’d never regain his memory, there was one unexpected perk: seeing the love of his life fall in love with him all over again. That’s what Ian wanted to believe was happening anyway, even if Mickey wasn’t ready to come out and say so. At least Ian knew the love he felt for Mickey was as strong as ever, and this was the beginning of the right track, towards picking up where they had left off.

For weeks, he’d avoided thinking about the phone conversation they’d had about marriage, shortly before Mickey’s accident in the prison showers. Mickey seemed uncharacteristically down that day. Normally, their talks were light and hopeful, discussing when Ian would be able to visit him next. Privately, Ian hoped it wasn’t a false front Mickey put on because his boyfriend didn’t think he’d wait.

_ “They let fuckin’ Enzo out, man. What the fuck? His record is way dirtier than mine. I really hope they don’t decide to fuck me and give me a longer sentence than the one I negotiated with those federal prosecutors when I got locked up to be with you. That was the deal.” _

_ “Sorry, Mick. Hopefully you’re only looking at a few more months,” Ian replied. “Sounds like the place is getting to you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like an idiot. He knew from personal experience: Disney World it wasn’t. _

_ “No shit, bitch. How’s freedom been tasting?” _

_ Ian knew Mickey preferred honesty and not some sugar-coated bullshit. “I miss you. Need to find a job. Family’s good. But I miss you.” _

_ “You sure about that, Gallagher? Not steppin’ out on me?” _

_ A little voice reminded him: Mickey had been preparing for this when they were still in prison, with the comment on how if Ian was “going to be fuckin’ other people, so would he.” Ian hated that Mickey worried about such shit. Though he understood, the last thing he wanted was to cause him any more undue stress. _

_ “Fuck, no! I’ll drive up and put a ring on it today!” _

_ Ian kicked himself for blurting it out before he could gauge how Mickey would react. They’d discussed the possibility of marriage while in Beckman, but hadn’t decided for sure. Now probably wasn’t really the best time to dangle that particular carrot in front of Mickey. _

_ Mickey was silent for a few seconds but then softly chuckled. “Oh, yeah? Think I’m the marrying kind? Gonna make an honest man out of me, Gallagher?” _

_ “Not likely. But yeah, I think we should get married. One day.” _

_ “Huh. Yeah...one day,” Mickey agreed. _

_Ian couldn’t_ _see_ _Mickey’s_ _face_, _but judging from the sound of his voice, he was wearing one of those rare smiles that put the sun to shame - one of his smiles reserved only for his boyfriend._

Ian turned his attention back to the present day Mickey, who was facing away from him in the bed, probably looking at something on his phone. After everything they’d been through, Ian knew it was exactly what he wanted: _ in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. _He hoped Mickey would eventually get there, too.

Just then, Mickey rolled over, phone in hand. “Took you long enough to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

Ian knew he had to play this situation cool, just like the night before when he refrained from leaping into bed with Mickey, right after the invitation was extended. One of the things he missed almost as much as kissing his boyfriend was holding him as they fell asleep and staying that way through the night. Instead, he’d settled for the skin-to-skin contact of Mickey’s back against his own.

“What time is it? Not like you’re an early riser.”

“It’s wake-the-fuck-up o’clock,” Mickey replied, rubbing his morning wood against Ian’s leg. “Since you were too tired to go last night, maybe we have time before you leave to see your nephew?”

“Mmmm,” Ian pulled Mickey closer, nuzzling his neck. “They won’t get discharged until noon, gives us some time.”

Rather than recoil from his touch, the brunet leaned into it and began applying strokes to Ian’s half-hard cock, which was straining against his boxers. Ian let out a contented sigh.

Based on Mickey’s behavior for the past 24 hours, there was no indication he remembered anything from the morning after their very first sleepover at the Milkovich house. A shiver ran down Ian’s spine, and he froze. Mickey must have noticed and stopped what he was doing. “You cold or somethin'?”

“No, Mick. Just thinking about some things.”

“Yeah? Me too. Got some more questions for you.” Mickey pushed himself up until his back was resting against the headboard, legs bent in front of him with hands clasped between his legs.

_ Oh shit_, thought Ian, also sitting up and bracing himself, depending on where Mickey was going with things. “What’s up?”

“Been, uh, noticing things...on my body. Scars I don’t recognize. Mandy told me some bullshit story about this tattoo,” he pointed to the tattoo of Ian’s misspelled name over his heart, “but I don’t know when or how I got it. She told me Iggy did it as a joke after I went after you for the shit with Mandy. I know for a _ fact _they both fed me bullshit, cuz I remember that part of my life now.”

Ian gulped. There was no way he could explain that tattoo or the one Mickey got while he was in Mexico without giving away too much about the past. Both of those tattoos could easily be associated with times in their relationship where Ian hadn’t exactly been there for Mickey - to put it mildly. He’d had his reasons, but he’d hurt Mickey. Badly. Ian remained quiet.

“You gonna play it like that? Huh, Gallagher? C'mon, man. My body is fuckin’ marked up with new shit. Except for these,” he held up his hands to show Ian his knuckle tattoos, “and this…” Mickey pointed to the scar from where Kash shot him. “You gotta give me somethin' more.”

Ian nodded, wishing he could lay it all out for Mickey and then deal with the aftermath together - every physical and emotional scar. Maybe Dr. Peterson would have some other ideas, and Mickey had an appointment coming up in a few days. In the meantime…

“Turn over, Mick.” 

“Ha! Nice try. You think some ass-eating is gonna distract me?” Mickey smirked, but he must have noticed the determined look on Ian’s face and decided to play along. Once Mickey was lying on his stomach, Ian lifted himself off the bed and went to pull a small mirror from its nail on the wall.

“Boxers down, Mick.”

“A fuckin’ mirror? Kinky.” Again, the brunet complied with the command. “Well?”

Ian pushed Mickey’s legs together and straddled him, holding the mirror over his left butt cheek. “You may have felt this spot before, but have you seen it?” Ian circled the small round scar where the bullet hit Mickey’s ass the day they robbed Ned’s soon-to-be ex-wife. He waited for Mickey to react. 

“I may have noticed it. Why? You shoot me by accident?”

“Nope, not me,” said Ian, putting the mirror on the floor and taking in the sight of a stark-naked Mickey, soft and beautiful, brow furrowed as he tried to place what had caused the scar. “It was Ned’s wife.”

“Ned’s wife? What the -” Before Mickey could finish his thought, Ian began peppering the scar with soft kisses and massaging Mickey’s ass cheeks.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” murmured Ian, “was the same day you kissed me. For the first time. And I know I’m supposed to let you remember these things, but I swear, sometimes I think you already do.” Ian was thinking about the chaste kiss they'd shared on Thanksgiving. 

Without warning, he flipped Mickey over and began kissing along the scar on his thigh, locking eyes with those of his blissed-out boyfriend. _ Boyfriend. _Seemed like such a cheesy word, considering Ian wanted more. But he had to be patient.

Ian nipped at the sensitive skin on his inner thigh as Mickey arched his back slightly, lifting his neck and pressing his head into the pillow. He let out a low moan and ran his hands through Ian’s hair, pulling his head and mouth closer to his hard cock. 

“Kiss me...here,” Mickey was practically begging, and Ian complied by flicking his tongue over the slit of his dick and kissing up the sides. He opened his mouth wide to take in all of Mickey, sucking him down and swirling his tongue as his mouth bobbed up and down, eliciting filthy sounds he knew Mickey reserved just for him. 

“Jerk it, Mick,” Ian whispered, slowly pulling his mouth away. “Wanna watch you make yourself come.”

“Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey groaned at the request. Ian noticed him watching with wide eyes as the redhead ran his tongue over the letters on Mickey’s tattooed fingers, kissing the rough skin of Mickey’s knuckles. They were covered with ill-gotten scars from the years the South Side thug spent kicking ass and taking names, his right hand bearing scars he’d gotten from punching the bathroom mirror years ago. 

Ian gave Mickey's cock one last lick before pulling his hand closer and watching as the brunet wrapped his tattooed fingers around it. Ian situated himself beside Mickey to get a good view and to continue what he intended to be some general body worship of the man he loved.

“I’ve memorized every inch of this body, you know,” Ian murmured, tracing a finger over the tattoo above Mickey’s heart, feeling a familiar ache in his chest, a longing for another chance to redo the moment with Mickey when he’d shown Ian the tattoo, to somehow explain to Mickey that he deserved better. They’d talked about it some when they’d shared a prison cell, but they’d need to have said conversation again once Mickey’s memories returned.

The sound of Mickey’s hand slapping feverishly against his dick brought Ian back into the moment, and he rubbed both hands over Mickey's chest, gently pinching each of his nipples, feeling them harden and watching the way Mickey shut his eyes tight, mouth open, panting. God, he wanted to kiss him, but he settled for licking and sucking on his neck - just nothing that would leave a mark.

“G-gallagher,” Mickey choked out the words. “You finish me, and I’ll finish you.”

Ian wasn’t going to protest, yanking his boxers off and revealing his own aching cock. He grabbed a hold of Mickey’s wrist, pausing when his fingers brushed over the “Lado Sur Siempre” tattoo. Ian realized he’d skirted around the Mexico conversation for the time being. 

“Hey...” Mickey said softly, catching the redhead off guard. “C’mon. Touch me.”

Fuck, he’d missed tender Mickey the most, from a time when Ian was completely lost and desperately in need of someone who could see his value as a person, back when he thought he was completely worthless and undeserving. Mickey showed him otherwise.

* * *

Around dinner time, Ian returned to the Milkovich house with some cartons of Chinese food to share with Mickey and Iggy, who he correctly assumed were in the same spots as when he left - having another Mario Kart tournament of sorts. Ian was pleasantly surprised when he walked in the front door and Mickey shucked his controller onto the couch, joining him in the kitchen. 

“You hungry, Mick?” Ian asked, handing him the bag of food as he pulled a few plates out of the drying rack. 

“Well, yeah. And I wanted to help out or whatever. Didn’t know you were bringing dinner. We were about to order a pizza.”

“Thanks.” Ian smiled to himself over Mickey being thoughtful and grabbed three beers from the fridge.

He’d spent the afternoon back home, holding baby Fred for nearly an hour as Tami and Lip took a much-needed nap, but that’s all the little guy would allow before he was wailing to be fed. After Ian handed the kid back over to Tami, he tried to make himself useful by cleaning up downstairs, throwing a load into the wash, then chatting with his siblings who still seemed groggy from the all-nighter they’d pulled when Fred was being born.

Debbie had confided in Ian that she decided to buy an RV for Lip, Tami and Fred to live in, and the owner was supposed to bring it over to the house in the afternoon. Before Ian left, Debbie let him know she’d texted pictures of the baby to Fiona, and their sister said hello, wishing him well with his quest to help Mickey gain back his memory. 

Truth be told, Ian didn’t know where to go from here. He’d led Mickey as far to the brink as he could, continuing to hope and pray he hadn’t gone too far. So what was next from their past? Fast forwarding to when Ian came back from the Army, manic as fuck, completely led astray by Monica to the Fairy Tail. And if Mickey hadn’t come along when he did, their story might have had a very different ending.

Ian would have bided his time in trying to figure out how to mention that particular time and place, but, as luck would have it, Iggy opened his big mouth.

“So,” the elder Milkovich piped up before he put a forkful of sesame chicken in his mouth. “How goes the guided tour of the South Side? Bet it’s nothing like the ones rich people go on for fancy-ass vacations. ‘If you look on your left, you’ll see where the Milkovich brothers shot out the window of a faguccino joint. And if you lean way over on your right, you can see the club where Ian Gallagher shook his ass for tips from old closeted geezers for a living.’”

“Wait a minute...what?” Mickey asked, looking at Ian incredulously. “You were a stripper?”

Ian’s face turned red. “What the fuck, Iggy?! Why the hell would you bring that up?”

Mickey snickered. “You were actually a stripper, Gallagher? Holy fuck! This is somethin' I wish I could see. Just don’t know if I really want to go out and get hit on by a bunch of drunk old queers who need a little blue pill to get it up.”

Ian sulked for a moment before a light bulb went off in his head. As embarrassing as this was, and as much as he really did not want to revisit this dark time in his life, he realized it had to happen in order for them to move forward - so he bit the bullet before he could chicken out.

“Mickey. You’re going there with me tonight. I’m not gonna give you a choice in the matter, since all of this will be for...research purposes.”

“Research, you say?” Mickey smirked. “Really didn’t think I’d ever wanna go to a fairy bar, but I guess you can drag my ass - as long as I don’t end up havin’ to break dudes’ knuckles if they so much as lay a hand on that cock.”

* * *

God, it was frightening how little the Fairy Tail had changed. The only differences Ian could spot were how the twinks in the tight shimmering gold booty shorts looked younger and how the music had gotten louder. _ Guess I’m officially an old timer_, he reasoned, his eyes no longer on the half-dressed twinks but on his boyfriend ogling the half-dressed twinks. As much as Mickey was still closeted at this point in their history, it clearly wasn’t affecting his desire to check out younger models.

“Really, Mick?” Ian gave him an admonishing glance. “We’re here for research purposes, remember?”

“What?” the brunet replied innocently. “You drug me here, so let me enjoy myself.”

_ Shit, he had a point. _ After Ian stopped being annoyed with Iggy, the redhead became hopeful this jaunt down memory lane would awaken something tucked away in the back of Mickey’s mind. As they’d gotten ready to leave the house and head over to the club, Mickey just stared back at him, mouth agape, hand stroking his chin, as he considered what it would be like to watch a nearly-naked Ian gyrating against a metal pole.

_ “You? Gallagher? You were a goddamn stripper?! Fuck, that’s kinda hot!” _

Mickey was more agreeable about visiting the iconic spot than Ian had expected. Maybe it was because they’d managed to so far avoid memories of the fucked-up things Terry had done to shame Mickey for being gay and nearly destroy their shot at happiness. The longer they could keep certain memories from reaching their heads, the better.

But revisiting the Fairy Tail wasn’t going to be a walk in the park for Ian - memories from the time blurred together in a mix of pulsating club music, strobe lights, little white pills, and needy, unwanted hands groping his body. Specifics from then had vanished for him, either by choice or due to the effects of the multiple drugs he’d taken to escape his reality. Some things had been told to him by others. Every so often, the image of Mickey carrying his drugged-out ass home over his shoulders would come to Ian in a dream.

Mickey rescued him that night, kicking his pride to the curb, desperate to be back with his favorite redhead, and neglecting his pregnant wife. Ian remembered how the brunet spent all of his free time watching over his dirty little secret, as he worked it in those tight-ass shorts, his glitter-splayed body in motion, available for purchase under normal circumstances, but not when Mickey “Rumble Fish” Milkovich was around.

He was hazy on the details of the first lap dance he’d ever given Mickey at the Fairy Tail, but Ian sure as hell remembered the kiss they’d shared on the dance floor - not their first kiss, technically speaking, but it was the first time Mickey had ever been uninhibited, with total disregard for anything other than consuming the moans he was eliciting from the man in front of him. Ian had taken him into a private room and shown Mickey his appreciation for letting his guard down, free of charge, of course.

He wondered (hoped) something similar might happen tonight, so he let his slight jealousy of the way Mickey was checking out several of the dancers build to a slow burn - one he’d use to his advantage should the moment present itself.

“Let’s just fucking sit down and have a drink. I feel like I could use one,” Ian said.

They grabbed a table near the bar and ordered a few drinks to kick off their evening. It was almost too loud to have a conversation, but they tried anyway, shouting over the club music.

“So, you come here often?” Mickey quipped, his attention focused solely on Ian now, his hand reaching instinctively across the table. Ian grabbed it before Mickey could pull it away.

“Guess we ought to start making this our regular spot, seeing as how you like it so much,” replied Ian, still surprised at this more relaxed version of Mickey.

“Chill your tits, Gallagher. If I’m starin' at the merchandise, it’s cuz I’m trying to picture you in that getup, all tweaked out and workin' it for the Viagra-swallowing tongue-waggers.”

He knew Mickey was just kidding around, and he wasn’t sure why his comment hit him the wrong way, but it struck a nerve. Ian untangled his fingers from Mickey’s and pulled them back to rest around his drink. “It wasn’t exactly my finest moment, Mick, but thanks.” 

_ God, maybe this was a mistake. The reasons that had landed Ian here made sense at the time, given he needed the money and an escape from his loss of self, loss of Mickey. Now, feelings of shame and embarrassment over the too-many-to-count guys he’d blown in the bathroom, all for a measly five dollars a pop, were overwhelming him, choking him. _

“Hey! Ian! I’m not makin' fun of you, alright?” Mickey’s expression shifted from menacing to concerned, and he quickly said, “Let's go outside and talk."

After a few seconds, Ian threw back the rest of his drink and nodded. _ Probably a good idea. _

On the way to the door, Mickey left some more dollar bills for a tip at the bar, looking over his shoulder, presumably to see if Ian was okay. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor and shouted a question. “Sorry, but I gotta ask one more time. I really used to come here and watch you shake your ass?”

Ian couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sheer look of wonder and confusion on Mickey’s face. “Every night I had a shift. You’d plant yourself right about there,” he said, pointing to one of the high top tables near a dancer’s podium that was currently occupied by a buff, and very tan dude, “and make sure no one manhandled me.”

Mickey laughed. “Like your own personal bodyguard or somethin'? I must've had it bad for your ass.”

“Well, yeah. That, and I, uh…”

“What, Gallagher? What is it?” Mickey was closer to him now, his lips just inches away from his face so Ian could hear him over the noise. Ian noticed his blue eyes darting around the club. He wondered if Mickey was more comfortable with their surroundings than he had been five long years ago, when Ian tried to kiss him in the club and was initially rebuffed. 

“When I first started working here, you and I weren’t together.” Ian paused, trying to find the right words. “I wasn’t taking care of myself. You were trying to help me. And if you hadn’t come along…”

“Hey…” Mickey touched his chin and lifted it slightly so Ian was looking back into his eyes. “Seems like it's what we do for each other, right? You’ve been stickin’ by me with all of this shit. A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t even know we’d fucked at all.”

“Yeah, Mick. But there’s so much more. Fuck, I wish I could tell -”

He felt Mickey’s lips cover his own, stifling his words. He thought the kiss would end as quickly as it began, but Mickey didn’t pull away. Instead, he gripped the back of Ian’s head and deepened the kiss. Ian felt a welcome dizziness, a sort of euphoria he’d been missing lately as the kiss consumed him. His entire body was on fire as his hands roamed from Mickey’s sides, to his back, to the side of his face, wanting all of him. He remembered the newly-uninhibited Mickey who came to life that night at the Fairy Tail years ago. 

When they finally broke apart, panting and punch-drunk, both eager to be as close as possible again, they made their way outside and ordered an Uber. They continued kissing in the back seat, rounding first base, hands roaming underneath clothing, and they were on their way to second base when they arrived at the Milkovich house. Mickey was handling paying the Uber guy, and Ian could barely contain himself, not knowing if they’d even make it inside.

Sure, he was horny as fuck, but more than anything, Ian’s heart was full, almost ready to burst. This was one more step in getting their relationship back on track, one more indication Mickey still loved him. Even a past seemingly erased, could be restored: if it was meant to be. 

They spent the rest of the weekend in celebration mode with a quiet, intimate gathering for two - although there was nothing really quiet about it.

* * *

With the craziness of Thanksgiving weekend, the beginning of December, and all of the new developments in their lives, Ian almost forgot about Mickey’s scheduled follow up appointment with Dr. Peterson. As much as Mickey didn’t want to go and it felt a lot to Ian like he was dragging a small child by promising a piece of candy, it made it much more fun if said incentive was sex rather than a sugary snack.

“So, you don’t have any more memories beyond when you were...how old?” Dr. Peterson asked.

“About 18 or so? But I don’t get all of it,” Mickey explained. “Like, I don’t understand things like why I got some more tattoos I don’t recognize, or why people are telling me I came out in front of my dad. He’s so bad about gay shit, I’d be dead if I did.”

“Okay. If your memories are coming back with regularity, that’s major progress. As I told Ian a few weeks ago; in the other cases I’ve seen, the memories have always come back. I will warn you, though: if there are any significant traumas that do end up resurfacing, it is likely to make this much more...challenging.”

Ian gulped. He learned enough as an EMT to tell when a doctor was trying to deliver grim news as tactfully as possible. _ By “challenging”, she means every horrible scenario I’ve been rolling around in my head for weeks. Fuck me. _

“For this reason: since Ian and I discussed this already, I will give you the list of the psychologists and therapists I’d recommend who address PTSD and will work with such patients to help them manage symptoms.”

“I need a head shrinker?” Mickey asked. “Don’t think I need anything, given how I lived with Dad all my life and turned out fine. If I could make it through that, fuck everything else.”

Ian and Dr. Peterson exchanged a knowing look.

“Where’s your bathroom? Gotta take a piss,” Mickey piped up.

_ This is my chance to really get down to brass tacks_, Ian thought as Dr. Peterson walked Mickey down the hall.

“Okay,” Ian said when she came back. “I felt funny talking about this in front of Mickey, but I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. The memories are coming back, but he has a _ lot _ more traumas that could ‘end up resurfacing,’ as you put it. That’s putting it mildly. I wonder how much of this is him subconsciously wanting to escape from all of his past.”

“You’ve been discussing all of this with him, Ian? Has this resurfaced organically, or has someone been putting ideas into his head for him?”

Ian hesitated. “His brother has blurted stuff out. I’ve given him limited info and taken him to see the places where we have history together,” he admitted, hoping he wouldn’t be scolded. “I’ve asked if they meant anything, and given him basic answers to his questions. I’ve dodged all the ones that could easily be connected to, shall we say, our worst of times.”

There was a long pause before she spoke. “I really feel for you, I do, but I’ve helped to the best of my ability,” the doctor said as she handed him a piece of paper. “I’m a neurologist. I deal with traumatic brain injury, which is why I’ve seen cases like this - but I am neither a psychologist nor a therapist.” She pointed at the paper. “While you've been as supportive a partner as you could ever be, it’s okay to get help. I think Mickey has been trying to go it alone for far too long.”

“Okay.” Ian nodded. “Thanks.”

She squeezed his arm. “Best of luck to you both.”


	16. Chapter 16

_ The Fairy Tail. _It sure as fuck lived up to its cheesy-ass name. Between the dim lights, colors and obnoxious music, everything inside of Mickey wanted to be repulsed by the idea of being turned on by anything remotely resembling _this_. But he actually didn’t hate Gallagher for talking him into going here after Iggy blurted out how Ian used to work at this fairy joint.

Mickey knew he’d never, ever, talk about this place with Iggy or - even less likely - any of their other brothers. And Terry Milkovich would choke to death on his own rage if he ever found out Mickey had set foot in this place.

He turned to Ian with a wry grin, but bit back the urge to make a sarcastic comment when he saw Ian’s face and posture. Mickey thought he would be the one to feel out of place, and while he wasn’t anywhere close to being in his comfort zone, Ian was the one who looked like he’d rather swallow glass than spend a minute longer there.

_ He wouldn’t have brought me here if it bothered him that much, right? _

Mickey frowned for a second, but as he took in more of his surroundings, his eyes soon fell on the half-naked dancers on the stage who were basking in the attention of patrons, most of whom looked old enough to be these dudes’ fathers. He couldn’t imagine for one second these grandpa-type customers would treat Ian the way he deserved to be treated. And none of the twinky little dancers could hold a candle to the gorgeous redhead standing next to him. 

_ Hell, they may not be as hot as Gallagher, but I can still look, right? He wouldn’t have let me come here if me checking out other dudes bothered him...and I’ll take losing my memory a million times over if he lets me see what he looked like in those tiny-ass shorts. That’s spank bank fodder if I ever heard of any. _

As Mickey looked to Ian, green eyes glared at him. What was that saying about jealousy with green eyes? _ Oops_. 

“Really, Mick? We’re here for research purposes, remember?”

“What?” Mickey said, shrugging. “You drug me here, so let me enjoy myself.”

Ian scoffed. “Let’s just fucking sit down and have a drink. I feel like I could use one.”

The younger man led both of them to one of the small tables near the bar, and Mickey got the attention of one of the bartenders to get them each a Jack and Coke. Mickey killed the first glass quickly before throwing a few more dollar bills in his direction to get another. The music was deafening and he had to yell in order to even hear the sound of his own voice.

“So, you come here often?” Mickey said sarcastically. Before he could even think about what he was doing, his hand reached across the table as he looked into Ian’s eyes, and a freckled hand wrapped around his. He flinched, but went with it for now. The fingers relaxed. Ian seemed more comfortable than he had been even a few minutes ago, but he still seemed like it was more out of obligation than anything else.

“Guess we ought to start making this our regular spot, seeing as how you like it so much.”

The brunet held his hands up in mock surrender. “Chill your tits, Gallagher. If I’m starin' at the merchandise, it’s cuz I’m trying to picture you in that getup, all tweaked out and workin' it for the Viagra-swallowing tongue-waggers.”

To Mickey’s dismay, Ian didn’t find it funny at all. His face fell, and he pulled his hand back. _ Fuck. I fucked up again. _

“It wasn’t exactly my finest moment, Mick, but thanks.”

_ Time for damage control. This was a real fucking bad idea to come here. _

“Hey! Ian! I’m not makin' fun of you, alright? Let’s go outside and talk?” he said. Mickey was still curious to know why Ian brought them here, but it was definitely time for them to fuck off.

They walked past the bar on their way to the door, and Mickey threw down a few more dollars to leave as a tip. But dammit if his curiosity didn’t get the better of him. His big mouth started moving again.

“Sorry, but I gotta ask one more time. I really used to come here and watch you shake your ass?”

To his relief, Ian smiled ever so slightly. “Hell, yeah. Every night I had a shift. You’d plant yourself right about there, and make sure no one manhandled me.”

“Like your own personal bodyguard or somethin'? I must have had it bad for your ass.”

“Well, yeah. That, and I, uh…”

“What, Gallagher? What is it?” Before he realized it, Mickey moved closer to Ian so his face was only inches away from the other man’s. He looked around nervously, but settled on staring back into those bright green eyes, the chemistry between them undeniable to anyone with eyes.

_ I’m really fucked now._

“When I first started working here, you and I weren’t together, I wasn’t taking care of myself. You were trying to help me. And if you hadn’t come along…”

It dawned on Mickey: _ Ian wasn’t working here because it was a choice he wanted. He did it because he was so far in the shits, his life at such a low point, he felt he had no other choice. That he was fucked for life... _

“Hey...seems like it's what we do for each other, right? You’ve been sticking by me with all of this shit. A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t even know we’d fucked at all.”

“Yeah, Mick. But there’s so much more. Fuck, I wish I could tell -”

_ Fuck anything else. Fuck my own shit, and fuck Dad. I want this_.

Mickey leaned into Ian and initiated a kiss _fucking hotter _ than anything he’d ever experienced in his short life of hookups and fucking. Mickey gripped Ian’s head and pulled him even closer in as he felt the other man’s large hands moving all over his body. He couldn’t even stand it anymore: the feeling of Ian’s tongue in his mouth, and the moaning - _ oh, fuck, the moaning _\- made him want to get the fuck out of there like Gallagher clearly wanted and fuck until he could no longer see or walk straight for a week.

Still hanging on each other, they stumbled to the door, ordered an Uber and gave no attention to the nearly-December air. Once they got in the car, they resumed making out, their hands still all over each other and beginning to roam in more places than they ought to be while they were in a stranger’s car. 

As tight-lipped as Ian was about all of the circumstances surrounding the club, Mickey figured Ian was somewhat embarrassed and still trying not to give too much away. But that kiss. _ Fuck. _ Mickey was sure he’d released the kraken with that one - for himself and Ian.

There was something about being there, the music thumping in the pit of his stomach, the lights flashing, and nobody else around them giving a fuck what they did. And Ian, looking at him...in that way, like he didn’t want anything more in the world than for Mickey to show him some sort of affection, give him some sign he felt the same way. Well, Mickey Milkovich was a grown-ass man, wasn’t he? So why not go for it?

And go for it he did. Mickey paid the Uber driver and gave him an extra tip for putting up with two horny dudes in his back seat all the way home. Mickey just hoped Iggy was already in bed or wasn’t home, since he wasn’t in the mood for more chirping about the noise they were about to make.

* * *

After their sex-filled weekend, it was back to their usual routine and Mickey’s follow-up appointment with Dr. Peterson on Tuesday.

_Why the fuck am I even here? _ The brunet stared defiantly around the white-walled, sterile-smelling doctor’s office. _ Right, it was because Ian promised me a blowjob if I agreed to see the doctor. _

“So, you don’t have any more memories beyond when you were...how old?” she asked.

“About 18 or so? But I don’t get all of it. Like, I don’t understand things like why I got more tattoos than I ever remembered having, or why people are telling me I came out in front of my dad. He’s so bad about gay shit, I’d be dead if I did.”

“Okay,” the doctor said. “If your memories are coming back with regularity, that's major progress. As I told Ian a few weeks ago; in the other cases I’ve seen, the memories have always come back. I will warn you, though: if there are any significant traumas that do end up resurfacing, it is likely to make this much more...challenging.”

There was a short pause where Ian and the doctor seemed to give each other a weird look.

“For this reason: since Ian and I discussed this already, I will give you the list of the psychologists and therapists I’d recommend who address PTSD and will work with such patients to help them manage symptoms.”

“I need a head shrinker? Don’t think I need anything, given how I lived with Dad all my life and turned out fine. If I could make it through that, fuck everything else.”

There was another one of those annoying looks, but Mickey’s bladder had been bothering him for a while now. He blurted out, “Where’s your bathroom? Gotta take a piss.” As the doctor led him out of the room and down the hall, he got the distinct feeling they’d be saying shit about him he wasn’t supposed to know yet.

* * *

It was the day after his doctor’s appointment, and Mickey had been having random flashes of memories while he was at work. They were nothing really tangible: not in the same way things were coming back to him before Thanksgiving. He knew it was a waste of time to try to force anything, but Ian had been alluding to shit lately and making Mickey extra curious. There was some mysterious “relationship” he’d mentioned that drove Ian to leave for the Army. And his bipolar thing. And now this Fairy Tail stuff - there seemed to be some kind of connection.

Mickey tried to focus on his task at hand: breaking down scaffolding needed for another site. He was almost starting to like his job, taking his lunch breaks with Iggy and actually enjoying his brother’s company.

Iggy seemed to catch himself a few times on the verge of bringing up something he shouldn’t from Mickey’s past, like letting it slip that Ian once worked at the Fairy Tail. Now he mostly stuck to stories from their childhood, descriptions of the chicks he’d been banging, and updates on the various members of the Milkovich clan, minus dear old Dad.

They’d started a new ritual of grabbing a beer after work at whatever dive they could find close to their work site, but on Wednesday afternoon, Mickey decided to revisit some of the places Ian had taken him to recently, starting with the bleachers. He lied to Iggy, telling him he needed to meet with his parole officer. 

Mickey took the L back over to their old high school and had a smoke under the bleachers. Closing his eyes, he waited for something, anything, to come to him. But it was only his most recent memory of Ian fucking his brains out that filled his mind. It wasn’t a bad memory, of course, just not the one he was hoping for. 

Mickey lit one more cigarette and inhaled, leaning against the rafters, trying to relax. He was getting hungry, his mind wandering to what he and Iggy should fix for dinner. He’d probably wait up for Gallagher if he could. Either way, he’d leave room for him in his bed. The dude was under his skin now: he had been for awhile. 

He knew now how it had happened: first with the gun and the tire iron, and then the gradual build up over time, including the summer they’d spent together after Mickey’s first stint in juvie. And who had he come running to after his second tour of duty in juvie for punching the cop? None other than Ian Gallagher.

* * *

_What the fuck?! Gallagher brought some other fucker to our spot? Well, that’s not really surprising since he was always horny as fuck. Can’t say I blame him, but I’m going to have to interrupt this little fag fest for sure. _

_ Mickey couldn’t put words to it, but he was feeling this odd sense of having something of his being taken away. Yep, it had to be jealousy. Good old-fashioned jealousy. He’d never felt like this over a person before. Sure, he’d been jealous before in his life: jealous of his brothers for not getting the shit kicked out of them by his old man. It sucked being the runt of the litter, and being jealous of all those kids in elementary school who could afford to bring their lunches or even pay for lunch with cash, while Mickey was on the free lunch program and getting looks of either pity or disgust from the dried-up looking hags serving the food._

_ But this was a new feeling, and he needed a way to rid himself of it. And soon. Because if he was feeling jealous of the yelping dweeb getting pounded in the ass by Gallagher, it meant he had actual feelings for the tall, freckled fucker, and that was something he’d been trying to shove aside, too. _

_ “Lookie what we got here,” Mickey sneered. _

_ “Mickey?” _

_ “Thought you were still in juvie.” _

_ “Not anymore. You havin' some sort of queer-bo sex under here?” Mickey needed to punish this random fucker with a few swift kicks. _

_ “No, no, I swear. Why are you still beating me up? He was doing it, too.” _

_ “You're the one takin' it in the ass, right? You're the one I gotta kick straight. It working?” Mickey said roughly as the kid looked terrified. _

_ Nothing like a little projection to hide the fact that Mickey wanted it to be the one getting it in the ass. Divert suspicion and all. It wasn’t like this kid would suspect anything, but still. _

_ “Yes, yes.” _

_ “Good. Get the hell outta here.”_

Mickey blinked, and the memory faded away before he was ready. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to conjure it up again. He needed to see Ian, the way he’d shaken his head at Mickey’s antics, while his fuck buddy got the shit kicked out of him, and the way Ian had looked at him, like he’d just received the greatest surprise of his life while still trying to play it cool. Looking back, Mickey had been too busy thinking about Gallagher’s cock in his ass to have noticed how much the kid wanted to be with him.

He was suddenly overtaken by another feeling, not jealousy this time, but fear...and something else. Longing? In this memory, Ian wasn’t under the bleachers in his ROTC gear, but standing by the fence in some type of official-looking uniform. Like a grown-up. He looked good.

_ God, he’s a sight for sore eyes. Fuck, he looks pissed. Probably because I had him kidnapped. Well, it was for his own good. Just hope he’ll be glad to see me. He’s here though, could have ignored my instructions. _

_ Kidnapped?!_

Without warning, whatever flash that hit Mickey was gone. He wasn’t sure what to make of it: had he actually kidnapped Ian and brought him to the bleachers? That was fucking weird. But God knows what kind of kinky shit they’d been into before.

Mickey decided not to say anything to Ian about these new memories. Gallagher was starting to seem nervous now when Mickey remembered shit, and the brunet was starting to get a little nervous himself. _What were these skeletons he had yet to find? How bad could it be compared to all the other shit life had dealt him? _

The jealousy thing hit Mickey again the following afternoon, like he suspected it would when he circled back over to the bar Ian had pointed out. _The Fountain._

The outside of the place was all done up now with twinkling Christmas lights and full of gay dudes macking on each other. Mickey sat across the street in the coffee shop at a table by the window, staring at the exterior of the bar, when an image of this so-called Ned finally came to him. 

_ Ned, the old geezer. If seeing Ian with his dick in some random high school dipwad had pissed Mickey off, that was nothing compared to how he was seething as he watched Ian yucking it up with that geriatric fucker._

_He’d heard about daddy issues before, and he figured Ian probably had some: this was his second time letting some older fuck buy him shit. But this guy was way smoother than Kash, had a lot more to offer Ian than Mickey ever could._

_ It was earlier in the day when the smooth-talker with leathery skin slithered into the Kash and Grab. Ian threw it in Mickey’s face how he and Ned had fucked, were fucking, would be fucking, especially since Mickey recently reminded Ian that he had a fuck buddy in Angie Zago. It was some high school level bullshit, but they were a couple of teenagers, which is why it particularly hit Mickey that a grandpa-type was getting it from Ian on the regular. Fucking perv._

_ Any excuse was a good one to punch his lights out, and good old Neddy-boy inviting them both over to his place, while referring to Mickey as Ian’s boyfriend, was the kicker._

_ “Shit, Mickey. What the hell you doing here?” Ian almost looked flattered at the attention he was getting. Cocky shit. _

_ Before Mickey could answer, Ned piped up. “Ah, from the store, right? Oh, come on, Ian, don't be rude. Invite your boyfriend back to my place. I mean, the more the merrier, right?_

_ “I'm sorry. What'd you call me?”_

So that’s why Ian stood in the middle of the street when he brought him by the Fountain a few weeks ago. That’s exactly where he’d kicked Ned’s ass, and they’d both gotten the fuck out of there.

_Ian just shook his head, once again, over Mickey’s violent outburst, probably secretly reveling in the fact he could push Mickey’s buttons, make him so jealous he couldn’t see straight._

Mickey finished up his coffee and walked the long way to the L station where Ian had brought him to go in search of their old hangout: the abandoned buildings now long gone. They’d needed a refuge back then, hadn’t they? From nosy family members, violent ones in Mickey’s case, and everyone else who wasn’t the two of them. 

Mickey didn’t have many friends growing up, and definitely not a best friend. That shit was for pussies, and even if he’d ever wanted one, he could never let himself get close to anyone. What was the point? His father would have scared anyone away with just one growl or grit of his teeth. And Milkoviches weren’t exactly known for being well-mannered: no one would have invited him over for a sleepover. But once Ian got his foot in the door, the rest was history.

_ Mickey let the redhead into his life and into his secret lair, even building the jarhead-wannabe an obstacle course and using real bullets to simulate what they both assumed it would be like in basic training._

_Secretly, Mickey thought Ian was too good for the Army or any part of some government controlled bullshit, but there was still time to talk him out of going. Maybe. He supposed it was a pretty selfish ask, since he had very little to offer Ian. _

_ But he’d given him as much as he could, hadn’t he? What was so goddamn special about Ned? Mickey knew the overall gist of it, the sugar daddy Ned was, but then Ian had landed a swift kick to his gut that sunny afternoon. _

_ “He’s not afraid to kiss me.” _

It dawned on Mickey: Ian had gotten him to kiss him on Thanksgiving the same way. Funny how that trick had worked twice. _ Sneaky bastard. _ Mickey had to admit it, though: Gallagher seemed to have a way of knowing what he wanted before Mickey even knew.

Back when Mickey had woken up in the hospital and found out his brain was basically on pause, he wanted nothing more than to be on the same fucking page as everyone else. Now he was feeling more in tune with the life that used to be his. There were still pieces missing and questions he wanted to ask. That being said, he knew the answers would be the same: _be patient and wait until it comes back to you._

Ian hadn’t yet picked up on the fact that Mickey was spending his afternoons retracing their steps around Chicago. And Iggy hadn’t been too worried, since Mickey brought takeout home both evenings. It wasn’t like he was going to fall back into his old ways, since he was now surrounded by only the most upright and moral citizens the Milkovich family had produced. _ Sarcasm._ And between Ian nagging him to stay out of trouble and having to check in with his parole officer, Mickey was staying on his righteous path. 

It meant something to him to have a steady paycheck, security. And though he couldn’t ever say the words out loud - not now, anyway - he had someone in his life, other than his siblings, who fucking cared about him. Ian appreciated him, believed in him. And he had feelings for Ian, too: strong feelings he could try to deny, but what was the point? Other than his face hurting sometimes from all the smiling he was doing, Mickey had little to complain about.

He figured it was probably time for everything to go to hell in a handbasket. Mickey could sense his old pals - pain and fuckery - hovering around. He wondered if whatever led Ian to whore himself out at the Fairy Tail had something to do with Mickey. Sure, the Army fucked with Ian’s head, but there had to be more to it. The “relationship” the ginger mentioned recently, but kept dancing around, continued to bother Mickey.

As he got off the L and made his way over to the Fairy Tail, Mickey thought about whether he should go inside and have a drink. It was still early evening, which would hopefully mean fewer horny geezers sniffing around him.

As it turned out, Mickey didn’t even need to go inside. Standing near the front doors, he noticed something he hadn’t paid attention to the last time he was here: the dirty piles of snow pushed against the building. Somehow, that was enough to trigger memories from the night Mickey had found Ian high as a kite and humping dudes for dollars. 

He had to steady himself against the brick wall. This was nothing like the other memories that had come back to him. This one hurt - really fucking hurt - and he doubled over in pain.

* * *

_I_ _ have to find him. What the fuck has he done? What did they do to him at basic? This is all my fucking fault. _

_ Mickey spotted Ian across the room, through the darkness and flashing strobe lights. Some version of Ian, anyway: no longer a fresh-faced boy with eyes full of hope, but a washed-up twink in a skimpy outfit, hair dirty and straggly, body moving almost against his will, trying to play a part that wasn’t him, would never be him. There was an old-ass queer underneath this new version of Ian. Jesus, why was the kid always drawn to fucking pervs? _

_ Mickey pulled Ian away from the old fuck who referred to him as “Curtis.” _

_“25 bucks gets you a dance.” Ian seemed really committed to this new role, barely flinching at Mickey’s hands on his shoulder._

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “Don't want a dance, you gotta move on.” _

_ “Okay, all right. Never had to pay for that shit before.” _

_ Mickey handed him the money, which Ian insisted he stuff into his booty shorts. He had to do what he had to do to get time with Ian. The guy was a mess: Mickey could tell from the way Ian’s body was shaking that he was on something, or multiple somethings. _

_ “So how's your day going so far?” _

_ “How's my fuckin' day going?” Mickey shot back at Ian, indignant. _

_ “Having fun?” _

_ “No, I'm not having fun. I spent the whole day lookin' for your coked-out ass.” _

_ Ian continued grinding on him, pretending he was just like any regular john, not anyone who meant anything to him. When the music stopped, Ian hopped up, walking away as fast as he could. He’d ignored Mickey's suggestion that he leave with him immediately. _

_ Fuck, I can’t let him go. This is not who he is. This is not fucking safe. _

_ Mickey tried a different approach, following Ian, trying to break him out of the trance he was under. _

_ “Look, you don't wanna hang out with me, that's fine. You need to call your family. Your dad's dying, Ian. Fiona almost killed Liam. Call them.”_

_ There was a flicker of concern in Ian’s darkened eyes, but then a bouncer stepped in between them, and Mickey knew he had to get out of there. But he would wait for Ian outside, for as long as he had to, in the freezing cold, kicking against the snow piled up around the exterior of the club. He’d drag Ian’s ass somewhere safe and get this all sorted out._

_A couple of hours later, Ian emerged with yet another gray-haired perv, treating the younger man like he was a thing and not a person. The old fruit was lucky Mickey hadn’t left him battered and bloodied in the snow for what he was likely planning to do with Ian, but he had to get the kid out of there._

_And he knew, right then and there, when he realized Ian had passed out in the snow, body shivering from the cold and all the drugs in his system, he’d never let him go again. Never._

* * *

When Mickey came back around, it was because someone was nudging his leg. He must have copped a squat near the Fairy Tail’s entrance because a giant-ass bouncer was telling him to “either move the fuck along or go inside.”

Mickey slowly rose up, legs stiff and ass freezing cold. He had no idea what time it was, and when he pulled out his cell to check the time, he realized his battery had died. _ Fuck._

He knew he needed to get home, making his way over to the L and hopping on a train, wishing it could move at light speed. He watched the buildings whirl by, wanting to make sense of everything: all of this new information.

_Is this what became of Ian after the Army - like I thought - he did see a dude get his head blown off in whatever-Stan? That’s why he started going bipolar. But that doesn’t explain why I went there looking for him, and who the hell I was allegedly seeing to set him off and caused him to leave in the first place. This doesn’t fucking add up! _

The minute Mickey stepped inside the Milkovich house, he knew he was up shit’s creek. He saw it on Ian’s face: relief turning into anger. 

“Where the fuck have you been?! Iggy said you usually come right back after your _ errands? _What errands?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher! You’re not my mother. Jesus!” Mickey angrily retorted, pushing past the redhead.

“I’m texting Iggy to tell him you’re back.” Ian turned away and started typing on his cell phone. “He and Mandy went driving around looking for your ass. We were all worried!”

“Needed some goddamn time to myself, alright?! My fuckin' phone died, didn’t know I needed to alert the fuckin' media!” 

“Well excuse me for giving a fuck!”

“Jesus, Gallagher! You sound like a nagging wife. Pretty sure I’d remember if I’d ever had one of those. Holy shit.”

Mickey wondered what he’d said, yet again, to make Ian look like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach and his guts spilled all over the floor. He wondered how much worse this could end up: it’d be yet another something he’d be left to figure out. 

He gulped, becoming more afraid by the minute, but he didn’t want Ian seeing that. Instead, Mickey stormed away, slamming his door shut and kicking his dresser. There was nothing he hated more than being treated like a fucking teenager.


	17. Chapter 17

It was Friday night, usually their busiest time of the week at the Alibi. But when Mandy had called Ian, concerned because Mickey wasn’t home yet or answering his cell, Ian asked Kev if he could leave work early to figure out what was going on. Without hesitating, Kev let him go, and Ian ran all the way to the house.

“Hey, babe,” Mandy said gently, kissing Ian’s cheek once he busted through the front door. “Guess you didn’t see Mick walking the streets on your way home?”

“No,” Ian managed, out of breath, checking his cell phone again to see if Mickey had texted him back. 

He noticed Iggy seated at the kitchen table and had some choice words for the guy for letting Mickey out of his sight, but Ian guessed the older Milkovich must be feeling guilty, not wanting to make eye contact with Ian. 

Mandy took it upon herself to say what they were both thinking. “Well, dumbass here last saw Mickey after work, said this is the third day in a row he’s gone off on his own. First it was to meet with his parole officer, then Iggy stopped asking.”

“Fuck,” muttered Ian. “Mickey already checked in with Larry on Monday, no way they had another meeting this week.”

“I’m fuckin' sorry, man!” yelled Iggy. “I thought he was all good now. You said the doctor cleared him and shit. He’s a grown-ass man. I ain’t his keeper!”

Mandy walked over to the dining room table and whacked Iggy on the back of his head. “You know he doesn’t have all of his memory back! We don’t need him getting into trouble. Idiot!”

Ian shook his head, disgusted with Iggy but more worried about finding Mickey. “Let’s focus on finding him. Where would he have gone?”

“We’ll drive around the neighborhood,” offered Mandy. “You stay here in case he comes back.” She put an arm around his shoulder to steady him. Ian hadn’t realized how shaken he was until he noticed the concern on Mandy’s face. “You know he’s fine, right? Mickey has nine lives, and he’s probably only on his fifth one...”

Ian forced a smile and followed Mandy and Iggy outside, lighting a cigarette and hanging out on the front porch as they drove away in Mandy’s car. 

_ Jesus, I need to get a grip. Mickey would definitely call me a pussy if he saw me like this. _

Ian finished his smoke and went inside to call the Alibi and let Kev know Mickey still hadn’t shown up. “Call me if you hear anything, Kev.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Ian. He’s probably getting a drink somewhere. At least you know it’s not Terry fucking with him. That bastard is locked up tight.”

“That’s true,” Ian agreed half-heartedly. The thought crossed his mind that Terry, or one of his goons, was behind this: some former “associate” of Terry’s could be exacting the father’s revenge on the son.

“And bring Mickey around this weekend! I miss the guy.”

“We’ll see, Kev. I’m sure he misses you, too, but I don’t know if he’s ready for the Alibi: too many memories. Thanks for your help.”

Right before Ian started calling hospitals and morgues, Mickey strolled inside the house. Ian felt an immediate sense of relief, but it quickly turned to anger. 

“Where the fuck have you been?!” He didn’t know whether to hug Mickey or jerk him by his shirt collar. “Iggy said you usually come right back after your _ errands_? What errands?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher! You’re not my mother. Jesus!” Mickey spat back, but a flicker of guilt passed over his defiant glare. 

“I’m texting Iggy to tell him you’re back.” Ian typed a message into his cell phone. “He and Mandy went driving around looking for your ass. We were all worried!”

“Needed some goddamn time to myself, alright?! My fuckin' phone died, didn’t know I needed to alert the fuckin' media!” Mickey looked like he was about to shut down completely, not really appreciating the lecture. 

Ian knew he should back off, having gained a lot of his boyfriend’s trust back over the past couple of weeks, but he was too stressed out by the whole damn situation. “Well excuse me for giving a fuck!”

Mickey was done and definitely not going to explain himself. “Jesus, Gallagher! You sound like a nagging wife. Pretty sure I’d remember if I’d ever had one of those. Holy shit.”

Ian could feel the color drain from his face, and his shoulders slumped inward. God, how was he ever going to be able to tell Mickey he did have a nagging wife at one point, and she was tied to so many fucked-up things that happened?

Before he could reply, maybe try to de-escalate the situation, Mickey stormed away, slamming his door shut. It sounded like he kicked a piece of furniture.

_ Dumbass probably hurt his foot. But he’s safe. He’s home. Don’t know where the fuck he’s been, but at least we know he’s okay. _

Ian decided to give Mickey some time to cool off, figuring Mandy might not extend him the same courtesy, but he’d try to convince her to let him talk to Mickey. He did deserve time to himself and the freedom to come and go as he pleased, but a heads up, under the circumstances, wasn’t asking for too much in Ian’s opinion.

It was quiet in the house now, and Ian couldn’t wait any longer to test the waters with Mickey. He couldn’t stay angry, he just hoped wherever the brunet had been up to these past few afternoons wasn’t going to piss him off.

“Mick?” he said softly, tapping on the door. “You want a beer?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” came the response, which to the outside observer wouldn’t be an invitation to come in, but for Ian, it could have been. He opened the door and pushed inside.

Mickey was seated on the edge of his bed, head in hands, and Ian froze in place as he thought about the awful afternoon when he’d told Mickey he was leaving for the Army. He knew Mickey had already made his choice, and maybe he should have been more understanding, but it hurt too much to think Mickey would never be his and his alone. He’d been wrong, of course.

“You okay?”

Mickey grunted. “Yeah, fuckin’ love having a keeper. Or what should I call you? My chaperone?”

Ian joined him on the bed, but kept a distance he figured was safe for Mickey. “What about ‘doting boyfriend’?”

“Fuckin’ gag me, bitch. Never said I was your boyfriend. That’s what you want.”

Ian looked down at his hands. “Yeah. I haven’t really kept it to myself.”

“You sure are keepin' a lot of other shit to yourself though,” Mickey scoffed, the tension between them still evident. “I mean, I gotta report on my whereabouts, but you won’t let me in on the shit from my past.”

“Mickey, you know why -” 

“Won’t even let me come over to the Alibi. You ashamed of me or somethin'?”

“That has nothing to do with -”

“I do know Kev and V, dumbass. Not too much about them, but I don’t see what the big deal is about me comin' to see you at work.”

“Mick, things happened there, shitty stuff, and I’m trying to focus on the good stuff,” Ian was inching closer to Mickey. He needed the older man to know he was doing everything he could to ease him into the awful things he’d been through.

“Good stuff, huh? Like the Fairy Tail? With you twerkin' like a bitch, out of your mind on God knows what chemical, probably suckin' off random dudes in the bathroom. Real good times, huh, Ian?”

Ian didn’t have a response, the feelings of shame and self-loathing from their trip to the Fairy Tail hitting him all over again. And then there was the realization that more of Mickey’s memory was returning, which was a whole other can of worms.

“Wasn’t my idea, remember?” Ian barely choked out the words and went silent. He started to get up but felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t go.”

Ian nodded and sat as still as a statue, waiting to see where this was going.

”Sorry for sayin' that shit. Wasn’t cool.”

He turned to face Mickey, feeling his genuine remorse and knowing if he added up all the times Mickey had made sacrifices for his sorry ass, it was no contest. “If you know about my...situation, do you remember anything else?”

“Yeah. I remember being worried about you and finding you there. You looked like shit. I took you someplace safe. Don’t know where. Don’t remember anything else!” Mickey shouted in frustration, standing up, hands in his hair, as if trying to ratchet more memories from his brain.

Ian leapt up too, pulling Mickey into his arms, knowing he wouldn’t stay there for long, but wanting to have him close. “It’s okay, Mick. You’re doing great. I can’t imagine what this feels like. I’m sorry for fucking smothering you. It’s just that I - well, you know, I, uh…”

Mickey pulled away, nodding his head. “Yeah, Gallagher. I think I know.”

Seconds later, Mandy and Iggy flew through the house like a pair of tornadoes, ignoring whatever was unfolding between Ian and Mickey to yell at their brother and tell him they had been worried sick.

“Jesus, a guy can’t go missing for a few hours,” scoffed Mickey. “What the fuck did you think I was doing?”

Mandy shrugged. “Shoplifting?”

And Iggy shared his brilliant idea. “Blowing guys in the alley for extra cash?”

Mickey gave him a rough punch to the shoulder.

“What? I figured you wanted to take Gallagher out on a date and needed the money.”

Everyone rolled their eyes at Iggy, and the four of them ended up in the living room, ordering a pizza, drinking beer, and watching movies. It was the bit of levity Ian and Mickey needed at the moment. As Mickey situated himself next to Ian on the couch, Ian’s mind drifted back to the secret mission he’d accomplished that week - shopping for engagement rings. Oh, he knew the time wasn’t right, but he also knew the day he asked Mickey Milkovich to marry him was going to come eventually.

The biggest question, of course, was whether Ian would be able to get Mickey in any sort of state where he’d be pliable to the idea of even getting married in the first place. The talks in Beckman about a life together, growing old and all of the cheesy stuff Ian thought he didn’t ever deserve, seemed like half a lifetime ago.

Ian tried to suppress a shudder as he recalled the conversation about how Mickey needed to see a specialist who dealt with PTSD. Would Mickey end up needing meds? The bigger question would be if Mickey would take them. His usual coping mechanisms - drinking himself into oblivion or getting into needless fistfights with random strangers - weren’t going to cut it.

* * *

The following day, Ian sat in his bedroom, playing with the two small boxes holding their rings. It made more sense for each of them to wear an engagement ring, he figured, since it would tell everyone they were both off the market. 

Ian was lost in his thoughts when a loud crash from downstairs made him jump. It sounded like someone in the overly-crowded Gallagher house dropped and broke something in the kitchen. A shout served to confirm it, followed by the high-pitched wail of a newborn.

“What the fuck?!” Lip’s voice shouted. “Carl! We can’t keep doing this. Your goddamn house guests keep waking up Freddie!”

“So go stay in your RV!” Carl yelled.

“Tami’s sick of living in a fucking RV!”

“I can’t let ICE pick these folks up! And it’s December! Can’t just chuck ‘em into the snow!”

Ian rolled his eyes, happy he didn’t have to get involved in the usual Gallagher shenanigans. He’d come here to visit, making a pit stop in the room he’d briefly occupied to look at his secret - a secret only Liam knew about. The rings were white gold and simple, paid for unknowingly by Tami’s Aunt Oopie, a sweet-looking older lady until she opened her mouth and the homophobia came pouring out. It was poetic justice that she had paid for their rings.

Liam had insisted on trying on Mickey’s ring for the “full effect,” much to Ian’s amusement. “Mickey has freakishly small hands,” Ian mused, while the shady-looking guy who‘d agreed to sell them the rings looked on.

Longing for the day he’d be able to slip this ring onto Mickey’s finger in anticipation of being able to promise himself to him, at long last, he was even able to temporarily put aside his feeling of dread over the still-grim likelihood that the worst of their past would rear its ugly head. For now, he was keeping the rings in the nightstand in order to hide them from prying eyes.

Ian thought some more about Mickey’s earlier protests and indignation that Ian wasn’t letting him go to the Alibi or otherwise have much contact with many people in their lives. _ He does have a point, _ Ian decided._ I can’t keep it from him forever. I talked to V and she is pretty adamant Kev will be fine - and when the bad shit comes back, it’ll still come regardless. _

His game plan was to bring Mickey to work this evening. Mickey wasn’t planning to do anything else besides just hang around the house with Iggy, and Mandy had gone back to her apartment to get ready for the start of people beginning to come to Chicago for the holidays, meaning the hotel was extra busy.

Ian put the rings in his drawer for safe keeping and grabbed a few tamales before saying goodbye to his siblings. He hurried back to the Milkovich house and shared the spoils of his visit home with Mickey and Iggy, who were sprawled out on the sofa watching a movie. Ian went to hang his coat up and realized he apparently needed to explain to the brothers how to eat a tamale. They'd both devoured half of their tamales without taking the banana leaf off.

“It’s not a burrito, guys. The leaf is what the tamale’s cooked in.”

“Well la-tee-fuckin'-da, Mr. Fancy Pants,” Iggy snarked, digging the rest of the masa out with his fingers and shoving it into his mouth.

Even Mickey looked at his brother with disgust and muttered “fuckin’ pig” under his breath as he got up from the sofa and rolled his eyes. Ian nodded towards the kitchen and Mickey followed, accepting the plate and fork and watching Ian unwrap the tamale before he followed suit.

“Much better,” Mickey said after taking a bite. “Shit was tasting bitter, but I was tryin' to be polite.”

Ian smiled. “Come on, Mick. You’ve had tamales before.”

“Why? Did I live in Mexico? Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me I got this tattoo in Juarez.”

Ian nearly choked on his tamale but managed to swallow down the rest of his bite and change the subject, telling Mickey to finish eating and get dressed.

“What the fuck for?”

“I’m taking your ass out for a drink,” Ian informed him, putting his plate down and inching closer to Mickey. 

“Thought you were working tonight,” the brunet replied, stepping back but having nowhere else to go, trapped by the counter.

Ian took his plate away and dropped it into the sink, ignoring the crashing sound it made as he put his hands on Mickey’s hips and pulled him closer. “Yeah, I am. Want you to come with me. I’ll make you whatever drink you want.” Ian nuzzled his lips against Mickey’s neck, wondering if the brunet would shove him away. He didn’t. Ian whispered in his ear, “Wear something sexy, huh?”

Now he’d provoked Mickey into shoving him out of his personal space, biting back a smirk as he told Ian to “fuck off, bitch”. But he did go to his room, where he threw a plaid button-up shirt over his tank top and waited by the front door to grab his coat and walk with Ian to work.

* * *

“You know, you really didn’t have to keep this shithole hidden from me,” Mickey snorted as they pushed open the door of the Alibi. Ian gave him a hard poke to shush him. As they stepped inside and Mickey rubbed at his arm in indignation, V’s loud, friendly voice greeted them.

“Hey, Mickey! Long time no see! Glad to see you’re doing better! We missed you.”

Ian walked up to her and gave her a hug, while Mickey stood next to the bar, looking awkwardly around at his surroundings Ian surmised weren't ringing much of a bell.

“Can I get you anything?” Kev asked Mickey as Ian got behind the bar and began to pick up some of the dirty glasses the patrons who just left had placed on the counter.

“What’ve you got?”

“Want your usual? It’s been a long-ass time, but I seem to remember you liking Tabasco sauce and eggs. We go way back.”

“How’d you know?” Mickey retorted, seemingly incredulous.

“A little birdie told me. And by a ‘little birdie,’ I mean you, even though you don’t really look like much of a birdie. Or does he, V? Does Mickey look like a birdie to you?”

Ian snorted as he poured a beer for Mickey and handed it to him before attending to a group of regulars who had seated themselves at the end of the bar. Mickey seemed okay with everything, and Ian had thankfully already given Kev and V the heads up regarding not bringing up anything about the rub and tug or Svetlana. It seemed highly unlikely V would have brought her and Mickey’s ex up, anyway, given their history and how badly things ended.

It dawned on Ian: he’d brought Mickey here with the intent of re-introducing him to the Alibi, but now there wasn’t much for him to do. He sure as hell didn’t want Mickey to get bored and go on another impromptu Chicago tour. V, always perceptive, seemed to know what Ian was thinking. “Mickey,” she said. “Want to help Kev unload some kegs in the back? We just had some come in, and it’ll be a huge help. I’ll throw you a few bucks if you do it.”

Mickey shrugged as he followed the tall man into the back, leaving Ian alone with his thoughts and hoping he could trust Kev not to spill too many beans too early. V was understanding and on top of things, and knew what was going on with Mickey, so Ian suspected she had coached Kev and warned him what not to say. 

“At least we can keep him occupied here and we don’t have to worry about him wandering off again,” Ian told V. “Thanks for the save there. I didn’t have a chance to tell you what he ended up doing the last few days, and like a dumbass, Iggy let him leave work and do it.”

“Well, those boys never were the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, you know? Especially the older ones.”

“Yeah, I have no idea where they've fucked off to - Mickey doesn’t even know. They’re probably either in jail someplace downstate or they’re in Mexico with Terry’s old gang in the Sinaloa cartel.”

Tonight was surprisingly slow for a Saturday, so at least they were able to carry on a conversation without having to worry about nosy patrons who might be looking for the latest piece of juicy gossip. More than anything else, Ian was glad Tommy and Kermit weren’t around to open their big mouths about the past.

Ian’s shift went by fairly quickly, and Kev was still managing to find work for Mickey to do in the back. Ian suspected V had given him a rather stern talking-to at some point - and she could put it through Kev’s rather thick skull that it was in everybody’s interest to avoid creating a situation where Mickey’s hands were idle.

After a while, the crowd began to die down and slow to a fairly calm trickle, especially for a Saturday night. As a result, V told Ian he could call it a night and coaxed Kev and Mickey from the back. As they turned to leave and Mickey was most of the way out the door, Ian thanked his friends for giving Mickey something to do. He owed that much to them for how they handled this.

* * *

As Ian and Mickey approached the Milkovich house, they could already hear sounds of loud banging and music coming from one of the back bedrooms. _ Is Iggy throwing a party? Goddamn him if he is_, Ian thought, groaning.

They walked inside to see faces Ian hadn’t seen in several years: Colin and Jamie came out of the room, from which they were blaring hip-hop music at an obnoxious volume. Mandy _ had _ said their older brothers came around the house “from time to time,” and now it was time.

“Yo, Carrot Boy,” Colin sneered. “Long time no see. Haven’t stolen any more babies?”

“Fuck you,” Ian shot back, sounding nonchalant, even though the comment stung. He had to yell over the music as it was.

“Stolen babies? What the fuck?” Mickey asked with a bewildered look.

“Hot damn, we got a funny man here.”

Ian silently begged Colin to shut up - he had no idea if these other brothers knew about Mickey’s amnesia at all. Thankfully, no further comment came. Ian realized their presence wasn’t a shock to Mickey at all, since as far as he knew, they were regular fixtures who just came back from an extra-long drug run. Iggy was sitting at the dining room table, smoking a cigarette and picking at a bag of potato chips.

“When did they get here?” Ian asked Iggy, who seemed to have no trouble hearing him.

“About half an hour ago. Not sure if they were with some of Dad’s old associates or what. I said I’m outta the game, but I make no promises about them. Sorry to you parolees and shit, but I ain't their keepers.”

“That’s great,” said Ian darkly.

“Oh, and somethin' else: Sandy’s here, too. She’s in the bathroom.”

As if on cue, Mickey’s cousin came sauntering out of the bathroom, giving Ian a smirk before walking up to Mickey and punching him in the arm. “Long time no see, cuz.”

“Jesus, Sandy!” Mickey exclaimed. “It’s like you grew up overnight. And I see you brought the entire motley crew back with you and shit.”

Sandy shrugged. “Whatever. My dad is out of prison, finally, and my brothers are out fuckin' around someplace, so I needed a place to crash while they get their shit in order.”

She turned and yelled, “Turn that shit down, assholes!” Surprisingly, they listened. Ian waited for his ears to stop ringing.

“Uncle Ronnie?” Mickey was surprised. “How’s he been? Haven’t seen the motherfucker in years. I thought he only comes around when Dad needs filing done. At least, before he got popped for the shit with that undercover cop.”

“Damn, are you sure it’s been _ that _ long? The cop thing happened fuckin’ years ago - I’d know since I’d just gotten outta juvie then. That's not even what he was in for this time.”

“Well, shoot me for forgetting.”

“Yeah, well, from what I can tell, some shit went down with our dads when they were in the joint,” Sandy said, pulling a cigarette out of her jacket pocket and lighting it. “Uncle Terry said his little brother’s too much of a pussy to fall in with the Aryan Brotherhood and those other Russian dudes, and they got in a huge fight. They got a fuckton of connections to pull off all sorts of crazy shit, but my dad kind of just went along with your dad. He wasn’t ever into Uncle Terry's white supremacy bullshit. Got into the Milkovich family business and all, but never went beyond dealing and stealing.” 

“I just realized something,” Ian said. “Sandy, I haven’t seen your dad since he broke a goddamn chair over my back in the big brawl at the Alibi after - _ fuck_!”

_ Goddamn it_! He hadn’t wanted that particular bean spilled yet. Since Mickey was already giving him a look, Ian figured he was going to have explaining to do later.

“Oh, that?” Sandy snorted. “He’s got no beef with you. He just did it cuz he’s a dumbass who got caught up in the moment, and he was still so far up Uncle Terry’s ass then. But he thought it was hilarious when the cops arrested him while he and Mick were hollerin' at each other. Think he’s still got the video on his cell phone camera. Terry would kill him if he knew.”

Ian gaped at her like an idiot, but he didn’t even register it over the dozens of light bulbs turning on in his brain. _ He’s still got the video on his cell phone camera. He’s got the video. _

“Hey, Sandy - this is going to sound weird, but do you think we could actually meet up with your dad at some point? I don’t know if you knew, but Mickey’s been out of the loop and I want to catch him up on all the stuff related to Terry. Want to keep an eye on him and all if he’s been trying to pull shit from the inside.”

It sounded dumb, but Sandy actually agreed. Ian couldn’t believe his luck, and if this was a bad idea, he didn’t care. He was about to reintroduce Mickey to one of the single biggest moments they shared: and if Mickey didn’t believe everyone who told him how he came out in front of Terry, things were about to change.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write. It contains explicit references to S3E6.
> 
> Please heed our trigger warning, which will be marked within the chapter. You can skip down to the End Notes for a summary of the passage.

Neither Ian nor Mickey slept well that night: not with the fuckload of rowdy Milkoviches coming in and out of the house. The following morning, Ian floated a suggestion about moving into the new RV Ian’s family had delivered to their house. Mickey knew it took guts for him to bring up the idea, but the brunet wasn’t convinced it was a good one. _ Maybe Ian should move out and let me start discovering shit on my own, _ he thought to himself, annoyed. 

The youngest Milkovich brother tried to get Kev to fill in a few gaps when Ian finally “allowed” him to go to the Alibi during his shift at work. And good old Kev, who Mickey quickly noticed wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, looked absolutely on the verge of spilling his guts when grilled about why the Alibi seemed so familiar and _ did it have an upstairs, because Mickey definitely remembered it having an upstairs?! _

But no: Ian must have talked Kev into keeping his trap shut. It was starting to feel like the redhead was trying to control everything about their situation, and Mickey wanted to understand why. In general, he appreciated Ian trying to look out for him, but enough was enough. This was starting to really piss him off, and Mickey had every intention of telling him so, which was more than he would have done for most people. _ That was growth, wasn’t it? _

The following morning, Sandy sent them out for groceries. They agreed to go since she was paying and there wasn’t much left to eat in the house, especially with three more Milkoviches raiding the fridge. Ian and Mickey were bundled up, and despite his fucking mother hen antics, Gallagher was looking pretty good. His cheeks were reddened from the cold, kind of like how his face looked after Mickey sucked him off.

“So, Mick? How about it? The RV?”

Mickey sighed, a puff of cold air clouding in front of him. “Gotta be honest, man. This is a lot right now. _ You’re _ a lot right now.”

“What does that mean?” Ordinarily, they might have stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to have this conversation, but it was too damn cold. 

“Means you need to slow down. Or, I don’t know, stop shielding me from every goddamn thing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel…”

“Feel about what?”

“Us. Me.” Mickey did stop this time, and he put a hand in front of Ian to slow him down. “Look, I know there’s somethin' between us. But you’re makin’ it hard for me to, I don’t know, feel it for myself. Fuck. I can’t explain it...” Mickey started walking again. They were almost at the store.

Ian didn’t say anything as they arrived at the store; his face was stoic as they picked out all the items from Sandy’s list. Without saying anything else, Mickey handed the cashier the money and divided up the bags between them to take back to the house.

_ Fuck. I’ve wounded Ian again, but it couldn’t be helped. I need some clarity, and whatever all this shit is that we’re dancing around needs to come to the surface. It isn’t even like it’s Ian who’s the only one doing it. It’s like there’s some big fucking conspiracy, or a big cosmic joke everybody’s in on but me. I just want to know what the hell is going on! _

Once they rounded the corner right before the house, Ian spoke up. “I’m doing the best I can. I really am. Forget what I said about the RV. It’s too soon: I get it. But will you trust me to show you something? Your Uncle Ronnie has a video of when you came out at the Alibi. I told you at some point about how you did that - and I know at least Iggy’s mentioned it at some point around you - but I didn’t know a video existed until I was talking to Sandy yesterday. It may jog your memory about a lot of things.”

“Fuck! So I really did come out at the fuckin’ Alibi? In front of Terry? How did he not kill me? Or you? How are we both still breathing with no visible scars, or brain damage from bullets going through our heads?” The words left Mickey’s mouth seemingly of their own accord.

“It wasn’t for a lack of trying, that’s for sure. He probably would have if the cops hadn’t shown up to drag him away for violating his probation,” Ian added dryly.

“Yeah, okay,” shrugged Mickey. “I’ll take a look at it.” _ I guess it’s something, _ he figured, _ something that might help more pieces fall into place. _

“Mick, I know you’re tired of all this. It’s a lot. But I really don’t want to lose you again...” Ian sighed before pushing his way inside with the bags, not giving Mickey a chance to respond. 

He didn’t really know what to say, anyway. Whatever happened at the Alibi, Mickey couldn’t imagine a world where he and Ian could ever be out and happy: not as long as Terry Milkovich walked the earth. But apparently that world had existed once upon a time.

* * *

Seeing Ronnie for the first time in a while was, in fact, a blast from the past. Mickey had always felt a fondness towards his uncle, given that he was the younger brother of his asshole father: a natural target for Terry’s abuse, like Mickey had been to his older brothers. He’d kind of suspected there might have been more to Ronnie than he let on, but it wasn’t like Milkovich men were in the habit of spilling their guts.

They waited a few minutes for Mandy to arrive at the house. Ian had texted her to come over, anticipating some sort of epic reaction to the video. Otherwise, they had the place to themselves. Colin and Jamie had been gone most of the day, dragging Iggy and Sandy along with them, to get into God knows what kind of trouble. 

Mickey was surprised by how unphased his older brothers seemed to be by his relationship with Ian. He would have half expected them to run to Terry and squeal, then carry out some violent plan to fuck them up. So far, they didn’t seem to give a shit, which was consistent with what Iggy kept telling him. The evidence _ did _seem to point toward nobody else besides Terry caring, but Mickey wasn’t willing to take that gamble without more very ironclad evidence.

Mickey went to get Ronnie a beer, and Mandy finally showed up, breathless and nervous-looking, giving Ronnie a half hug before throwing off her winter gear and taking a seat next to Ian. There was little in the way of chitchat, since Ian quickly interjected and changed the subject to the video. By now, Mickey was dying to know what kind of shitstorm went down. Ronnie promptly responded by handing his phone over to them and apologizing for the poor quality.

_ There was snow on the ground, and the entire atmosphere was one of a dreary Chicago winter - aside from the loud cursing and shouting coming from the inside of the Alibi as men were being hustled out. Two cops held back a screaming Terry as Mickey was being pushed out ahead of him. Terry was red in the face. It looked like he had just beaten the shit out of Mickey, given his bloody and broken nose and split lip. Hell, he couldn’t see where the blood was coming from, since his face was covered in it. He looked terrible, but somehow alive. _

_ Both Mickey and his father were being shoved against cop cars as they struggled and continued to shout obscenities at each other. _

_ “Fuckin’ faggot! Get out of my house! You pole-smoking queer!” _

_ “Fuck you! Don't worry about it! I’ve been stayin’ at Ian's since you've been in the can, bitch! Guess what we've been doing, Daddy! We've been fuckin’! And I take it! He gives it to me good and hard, and I fuckin’ like it!” _

_ The camera began to shake. Ronnie’s sniggering was clearly audible. His brother looked about to burst from the humiliation of the entire Alibi knowing not only that his youngest son was gay, but said youngest son was also humping the cop car to punctuate his words. _

_ “Let me go!” _

_ “Calm down, Terry!” one of the cops said. _

_ A still defiant Mickey spit back, “Fuck you! I suck his dick! I fuckin’ love it!” He spit a mouthful of blood in Terry’s direction. _

_ “Get him out of here!” _

_ “Fuck you! I'm gonna cut your balls in little pieces and shove ‘em up your ass so far, you grow ball trees, you fuck!” _

_ The camera shook more and the video began to pan downward. Ronnie seemed to be doubling over and struggling to breathe. _

_ “What is your problem, Terry?! You've been out for four hours, and you're already into a fight? You're breaking your probation!” _

_ Ronnie began to walk closer to hear the more muted voice of the cop restraining Mickey as Terry was already inside the cop car. Ian was standing nearby, battered and bloodied and waving his middle finger in Terry’s general direction. _

_ “And as for you, you're free to go,” the cop told Mickey, inexplicably uncuffing him. _

_ “What?” _

_ “If I arrest you, it's gonna be a lot of paperwork. Keep me in the office all night. I'd rather get home to my husband, Carlos.” _

_ The picture began to wildly pan in every direction as a loud, much closer voice said, “Ronnie Milkovich! Get out of here unless you want us to arrest you along with your brother!” A second later, the video went dark. _

The Milkovich living room was silent for a solid twenty seconds. Mickey slumped down into the couch where he was sitting. He was shocked that he was still alive after what he’d seen in the video, but even more confused. It was like seeing it happen to someone else. He was a spectator instead of a participant, spying on some past version of himself like the _ Christmas Carol _ movie his mom used to make him watch around the holidays when she was still around.

“So...that was right after the big coming out,” Ian said quietly.

Mandy looked pretty stunned, reaching over Ian to pat Mickey’s knee. “I’d only heard about what happened that night from Ian and Iggy, but seeing it? Wow, Mick.”

“Huh…” said Mickey, stunned speechless before recovering. “Fuck! I did that! I really fuckin’ told the entire Alibi, my dad and all of those cops that Gallagher gives it to me in the ass?!”

“Yup,” Ronnie said. “Probably the one thing that would piss Terry off more than anything. In the joint, it’s not about sex, it’s about dominance. It’s rape, is what it is. It’s about power, and the ones who give it ain’t the ones who’re gay.”

Ian shuddered in response. “At least we didn’t have to see much of that. A lot of the guys seemed to be in consensual prison husband relationships in Beckman.”

Ronnie snorted. “That’s fuckin’ cute that that’s what you think they all were.”

“Yeah,” Mickey interjected. “Don’t know about Beckman, but that other shit happens all the time. Had to do it in juvie to keep anybody from trying to fuck around with me. It was basically either fuck or be fucked. Not like I was gonna tell any of ‘em what I really wanted.”

Ronnie piped up. “Look, I don’t care who you fuck. But my brother does, and he made it real fuckin’ clear. He still rants and raves about it. I went to visit him last week in prison.”

“I hope he rots there,” Ian said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, for your sake, I can see why. Terry must have gotten word that you’re out of prison now, Mick. He told me, ‘If that whore had done what I paid her to do, she would’ve fucked the faggot out of that little cocksucker.’ Said he wishes Svetlana-”

“Stop!” Ian yelled, groaning audibly and looking panicked. Mandy looked a mixture of confused and horrified. Ian clearly knew all too well what was up, and it was nothing good.

“Wait a second. Who the fuck-” Mickey stopped talking, trying to figure out what nugget Ronnie had dropped. He turned to lan, realizing that the redhead had gone paler than a ghost. Mickey was getting a horrible hollow, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that was becoming worse and worse by the second.

“Gallagher?”

“Ronnie, I think you should go,” Ian muttered.

A knowing look passed over Ronnie’s face. “Aw, shit. You don’t remember nothing cuz you hit your head. Fuck. I guess you don’t remember your wedding to that whore and then-”

“Ronnie! You need to leave!” Ian suddenly shouted, causing Mickey to jump. He nodded in his uncle’s direction as Ian practically escorted him to the door. His uncle let some really weird shit slip while he was here.

“The fuck was that?” Mickey asked. “He said somethin’ about a ‘‘wedding.’ I had a fuckin’ _ wife_?”

“Don’t,” Ian said forcefully. “This was a huge mistake even having him come here at all. I should have known you wouldn’t be ready for this, and this is all my fault!”

The look on Ian’s face was one Mickey had never seen before. He was beyond the point of looking like he‘d seen a ghost - he looked like he’d seen a dead, mutilated body. There was not much that could scare Mickey Milkovich, but that look scared the shit out of him. He wondered what happened, what else Terry did that was so horrible. _ Bad question to ask. Knowing Dad, it could’ve been almost anything. _

Mandy looked almost as shaken as Ian, her chin pressed into his shoulder, lips trembling, as if she was bracing herself for some invisible evil to come out of the shadows. Mickey didn’t know all of the specifics, but he did know Terry hurt her before, likely in unspeakable ways. There were no limits to the damage he was willing to do, even to his own children.

Mickey sat silently on the couch, too worried now to say anything else. The redhead was as stiff as a board, and Mickey chanced a look up at his face. It was stone cold, devoid of any emotion at all. _ Fuck. That shit is worse than if he cussed me out. Way fucking worse._

* * *

** _Trigger Warning: Passage Start to end of chapter_ **

  
Just then, it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Terry had told Ronnie, “If that whore had done what I paid her to do, she would’ve fucked the faggot out of that little cocksucker.”

Mickey’s chest tightened. It felt like somebody reached in, grabbed his guts and squeezed them until they bled. He buried his face in his hands, unable to move or speak.****

_ “What the FUCK?” _ ****

_ The embarrassment that jolted through Mickey as the living room door swung opened quickly gave way to shock and horror. Ian jumped off of the couch where he’d been fucking Mickey, where it all had been just fine five seconds ago. More than fine. Ian had slept over. They’d watched movies, ate shitty food, fucked in Mickey’s room, and spent the night together in his bed. _ ****

_ Terry Milkovich was supposed to be out of town. He was never supposed to know about Mickey and Ian, but here he was in the flesh. _ ****

_ He screamed in rage, looking like a rabid animal more than a human being. Mickey knew then and there that he was going to kill one or both of them. _ ****

_ “Dad! Dad! Hold on! Hold on!” _ ****

_ But there was no stopping him - Terry was going straight for Ian. “Mandy wasn’t enough for you?!” _ ****

_ Ian cried out as Terry’s fists hit his face over and over again, propelling Mickey to action like a man all but possessed. The sound was more than he could bear. He didn’t want to see Ian die like this. He had to take it for him. _ ****

_ Mickey flung himself on top of Terry’s back. “Get off of him!” _ ****

_ The next thing he felt was a horrible ringing in his ears as Terry turned his attention to his youngest son. Hateful words filled the room, and Terry pounded blow after blow into Mickey’s face. The pain was unreal. He felt his nose break with a sickening crack. _ ****

_ “No son of mine is gonna be a goddamn AIDS monkey!” _ ****

_ Mickey wanted to yell out to Ian to get the fuck out of there, but he didn’t have the strength to push any words past his now swollen and bloodied lips.The last thing Mickey felt before all went black was another nauseating blow of the pistol against his skull. It was over. For now. _ ****

_ When he came to, there was no telling how much time had passed. Ian was still in the room, his eyes focused on the doorway. A woman was standing there, scantily clad and looking half-drugged. _ ****

_ Mickey felt an unfathomable sense of relief, as he managed to put things together in his state of delirium. Terry wasn’t going to kill either of them. This was all Mickey had to do. It was just fucking, he told himself, and then it would all be over for real. _ ****

_ “She’s gonna fuck the faggot out of you, kid. Ride him until he likes it, сука,” Terry spat at them before directing his vitriol towards Ian. _ ****

_ “And you're goddamn gonna watch.” _ ****

_ The entire scene was something out of a nightmare - or a horror movie. This wasn’t real life. It wasn’t that goofy redhead kid from the neighborhood, cowering in the living room just a few feet away, naked and bloodied and stunned, riddled with guilt and shame. It wasn’t his masochist of a father hovering nearby, practically salivating at the thought of watching his son get fucked by a whore. It couldn’t be real life - only it was. _ ****

_ Mickey needed to get this the fuck over with. He needed to keep Terry from hurting Ian. He needed to be the fucking obedient son so his sick fuck of a father would leave them the hell alone. _ ****

_ Mickey broke eye contact with Ian, not wanting to torture him any more than he already had but knowing it was too late. He let his mind disconnect from his body, going as far away as he could go from what his own father had orchestrated. _ ****

Mickey’s hands shook as he lifted his head. He looked down at the backs of his hands, the tattooed knuckles a familiar sight that he begged to stay in his mind’s eye to spare himself from anything else, anything further from that morning. He felt Ian stroking his shoulder, trying to coax him out of the trance that had taken ahold of him. But he needed to keep remembering, he needed to know if that horrible thing actually happened.****

_ Now he was in the shower, wondering how many more times he could scrub his skin until it started to bleed. Somehow it wasn’t enough. He still felt dirty as he continued to pick at a sticky spot on his leg that washed off long ago. _

_ He was vaguely aware his eye was swollen shut and he undoubtedly had a concussion. His nose had stopped bleeding. His ears were ringing and the pain was still terrible, but it was nothing compared to his compulsion to keep scrubbing until there was nothing left to slough off. _

_ He could still feel her fingers, his body betraying itself. He had no idea how long it went on. His mind shut down. He couldn’t have left even if he didn’t have a gun at his head. All he did know was this was all his fault. He deserved it for going against his father’s wishes in the worst way, tarnishing the Milkovich name. He should feel humiliated because Ian actually saw him getting that lesson. But for now, this feeling of numbness was so nice. If it went away, there was always alcohol to make it come back again. _

“Mickey!”

The voice was Ian’s, a much older Ian but still bearing an expression of fear. Mickey realized he was now sitting in that same fucking room where he’d been forced to fuck that woman. All he could feel were the fingers on his skin. Gallagher’s were large, not small and feminine, but it didn’t matter. They felt like they were burning him.

“Leave me alone, Gallagher!” Mickey shouted, pushing Ian’s hands off of him as he shoved the younger man away from him.

“Mickey, please! What is it? Tell me.” The tone in Ian’s voice was wavering, but he was trying to be brave or some shit. Or did he pity Mickey Milkovich? He’d been the bad kid everyone feared, but little did they know he’d cower at his father's feet, take any and all of Terry’s abuse like a bitch.

“I said just go. Leave! Leave me alone!”

Mandy had moved away from Ian, still thrown by what was happening, like she’d stumbled upon a murder scene but clearly knew she should run away. She must have seen the pain in her brother’s eyes: she was standing next to him now, knowing what it meant to be traumatized by their father.

Ian just shook his head as tears were forming in his own eyes. “Mickey…” he repeated. “I know why you’re upset, and I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything for you.”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf, Gallagher? I said I don’t want to fuckin’ see you! Just go home. Don’t call or text me!” His voice didn’t even sound like his own. “My fuckin’ dad could have put out a hit on one or both of us! He has my older brothers wrapped around his fingers. And who knows where the fuck Joey is?! Could be with Dad now. Go before you get us killed!”

“Please, Mickey! We’re not kids anymore. He can’t hurt us. Please don’t push me away. Not like...before...”

“_Fuck off!_” Mickey screamed, throwing an empty beer bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces of glass littering the floor. 

Mandy gaped at both of them until she was able to speak. “Ian, I’m so sorry. You need to leave. And I’m going to take Mickey to my place. I don’t think Colin and Jamie would do anything to hurt you guys, but Mickey,” she lowered her voice and turned to him gently, “you need to process all of this somewhere else. Ian understands. You need some space right now.”

Mickey avoided looking at Ian, who by now had tears streaming down his face. He hated how he was the one who caused them, but he feared Terry even more for what he’d done to them, what he could still do.

If Mickey had to hurt Ian emotionally, so be it. It was better than the alternative of being killed or hurt physically, and Mickey realized now that he couldn’t bear to see that happen again. He shook his head. He should have known he would never be happy while Terry was alive.

The constant eggshell-walking and dodged questions; the whispering he swore he heard behind his back; the look on Ian’s face when he pulled out the anal beads on Thanksgiving: this explained everything over the last month. This was what Ian was hiding. Why else would he have been so evasive when Mickey pressed him about why they couldn’t be together, and why he skipped town to join the Army? And then there were the comments his sister made to him when he got home from the hospital.

_ “Mickey...when I said a lot of shit has gone on, a lot of it was just really bad. While the best things are worth it, other things that happened to you in particular were...not good, and you’re probably happier not knowing yet. It’ll hit you like a ton of bricks when it comes back.” _

_ How much does Mandy know? Did Ian tell her? Does anyone else know? _A new wave of shame and embarrassment hit him.

It took a few more soft pleas from Mandy for Ian to admit defeat. He turned to go, but paused at the door. “I love you, Mickey, and I just want you to know...I’m not giving up on us.” 

Mickey wanted to be numb to Ian’s desperate, determined tone: his face was marked with red patches, and his eyes full of tears. Now Mickey understood why Ian had been so cautious, so controlling, so afraid during these past few weeks. All of this now made perfect sense, but none of that mattered now. He was the one who had to protect Ian.

He quickly retreated to his bedroom to pack up some shit to take over to Mandy’s place. She was right - he did need some fucking space. This house, where he’d been feeling like he belonged, was more like one of those trails of terror, where hidden horrors would start popping out the longer he stayed there. 

_ Mickey stood beside his bed, talking about her - his wife - and how she could drink him under the table. It’s what he’d had to do, wasn’t it? Marrying the knocked-up bitch and getting Terry off his back. Now maybe he and Ian could pick up where they left things. _

_ But Ian just stared back at him, distant and cold, confessing his plan to join the Army. He’d given up on Mickey...on them. Fuck. _

_ And then he was gone, and Mickey was left by himself, almost gasping for air. Mandy appeared in his doorway, scolding him for being a fucking idiot and letting Ian go. _

But now it wasn’t a teenage Mandy standing there with a scowl, it was a grown-up version of his sister, face full of heartbreak and the desire to help him. Mickey could barely believe what was happening, but there he was, in her arms, having the biggest fucking cry of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of passage with trigger warning: 
> 
> Mickey has a traumatic, detailed flashback to S3E6 and its aftermath. 
> 
> After Mickey's flashback, he tells Ian to leave the Milkovich house; he thinks Terry is going to put a hit on them from prison, or otherwise harm them. He also quickly realizes why everyone has been trying to walk on eggshells around him, and what Ian was trying to hide this whole time.
> 
> Mandy reluctantly tells Ian to go back home before taking Mickey to her apartment to stay there. At Mandy's apartment, Mickey has another flashback, this time to when Ian told him he was leaving for the Army (specifically the "don't). He finally reaches his breaking point and cries in Mandy's arms.
> 
> ^^^^^^^^^^
> 
> azuresky18 took on this challenging piece of canon with such care for our boys. We promise it will get better eventually, but we didn’t want to gloss over this part of their story from canon.


	19. Chapter 19

Ian’s eyes darted back and forth in the dark, tracing over a crack in the ceiling of the RV. He decided it was probably cosmetic, but he cataloged it in the back of his mind as one of several things to repair. Anything was better than thinking about what had happened at the Milkovich house. It was just too painful.

Ian barely registered packing up his things that were at Mickey’s place. When he got home, he hadn’t even gone inside the house. Instead, he’d headed to the RV and flopped down on the too-small bed, buried his face and cried for Mickey: for the fate of a damaged young man forced to grow up too quickly in a cruel world. He’d done his best to ease his boyfriend into adjusting to a life with forgotten memories, but now they had been thrust into a reality where Mickey was forced to re-live his painful history.

_ I’m so fucking stupid. I knew from day one, as soon as Mickey presented with amnesia, this was inevitable. Dr. Peterson warned me. _ How _ stupid and naive could I be to try and run away from our past like this? _

Exhausted, Ian realized the more he glanced around the RV, the more things he saw that needed fixing. He decided he could begin the work in the morning, provided he could get some rest, which would be near impossible. On the other hand, he could wait for Mickey to help him with revamping what might one day be a place to call their own. Maybe, after Mickey had a day or two to let the initial shock of certain memories wear off, he’d be back in touch with Ian - but it was probably wishful thinking.

_ You’ll have to be patient with him, _ a voice reminded him, _ since you don’t know to what extent or how much he remembered. It had to have been the Terry stuff, for sure, so he’s been retraumatized. You can’t expect him to just turn around and run back into your arms. He never had a chance to process it the first time. Not really, not as far as you know. The two of you didn’t even touch on the topic in prison when you had all the time in the world. _

Ian breathed deeply before rolling over to check his phone again. It was 2 a.m., so it was now officially Monday. He had let Mickey be, but there was nothing new from Mandy. She’d texted him earlier that she and Mickey were over at her apartment and he’d finished what was left of her alcohol, eventually passing out. 

_ How much did he drink? _Ian asked her, cringing at the thought of Mickey drinking himself into oblivion. 

_ Maybe half a bottle of vodka. He wants me to get more tomorrow. I don’t think I should, but he’s hurting, Ian. _

_ Let me come over and help him, _he’d pleaded. 

_ Absolutely not. I’m sorry, babe, _ replied Mandy. _ I know this is hurting you, too. Fuck, this is probably going to set off some shit for me. But Mickey has been very clear about how he feels. Don’t push him. _

_ Maybe I can convince him to get some help. I thought I could fix things on my own, _ Ian admitted. _ I’ve been so stupid. _

_ You’ve been doing everything you can. Mickey needs some time, but I know he’ll come around. Let’s touch base in the morning. Get some rest. I love you. _

_ Rest. _Yeah, what a lost cause. And even though Ian appreciated his siblings suggesting he occupy the RV, the walls of the more confined space felt like they were closing in on him. The stale air was suddenly heavy and thick, too hard for him to breathe in. Ian jumped off of the futon, pushing the door of the RV open, and made a run for the kitchen door of the house, not caring about the cold. Maybe a beer would help him relax. Fuck, if he wasn’t doing regular drug tests for his probation officer, he would’ve asked Carl to hook him up with some weed.

The kitchen was quiet and now devoid of Carl’s tamale-making friends. Ian flipped on a light and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He drank it silently at the kitchen table, replaying the way Mickey’s shock over the scene in front of the Alibi had been quickly replaced with panic and horror - after Ronnie’s comment must have triggered that most disturbing memory.

Ian almost let his own mind drift back to that horrific morning, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps plodding down the stairs, coupled with the sounds of a crying baby. Thankfully, Tami saw him right away, or she could have startled enough to drop little Fred. She looked like a total disaster, i.e., a new mom who wasn’t getting any sleep.

“You okay, Tami?”

“Ian!? Oh, fuck! I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t get Lip to wake up, and Fred is on fucking strike. I don’t want to be the one to give him a bottle if I can help it, so can you, please? Then I can go pump.”

“Strike?” Ian asked curiously, nodding as Tami gently passed the wailing baby over to him.

“He won’t fucking nurse. His pediatrician says it’s normal, but it makes me feel like he doesn’t want me.” Tears were streaming down her face as she pulled a bottle from the fridge and ran it under hot water from the sink. “Here you go,” she said. “I’ll be back in about 15 or 20 minutes.”

“It’s okay, Tami,” he said softly, rocking baby Fred in his arms. “You’re doing great. I got this. Go lay down and sleep for a few hours after you pump.”

“Ian...no, I, uh...fuck. Are you sure? That would be amazing, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Can’t sleep anyway, might as well make myself useful.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll set my alarm for 5 a.m. and try again with nursing. Or if he’s fussy, come get me.” Tami gave Ian a quick peck on the cheek and practically ran up the stairs before one of them could change their minds.

Ian eased the nipple of the bottle into Fred’s mouth until he latched onto it, sighing softly as he took in the milk. This was bringing back memories for Ian of helping Monica with his younger siblings, then Yev, and then Franny. He had some pretty decent experience in the newborn department, thank you very much. 

Ian made his way into the front room to find a comfortable spot on the couch. Once Fred finished his bottle, Ian knew to burp him, and in a little while, he’d test his luck with putting Fred in the portable bassinet Tami had set up downstairs. If the little guy squawked too much, Ian could pick him up again and let him sleep in his arms while he watched television with the sound muted.

Tami probably thought he was doing her a big favor, but it was actually the other way around. Ian needed this right now. He needed to be useful and occupied, and focused on something other than the suffering he knew Mickey was experiencing because there wasn’t a damn thing Ian could do about it. _ Was there? _

Fred continued to rest peacefully in Ian’s arms. The baby didn’t stir as his uncle walked to the bassinet and gently placed him on his back.

_ I wonder if Mickey will remember anything else about Svetlana. That she was pregnant? And Yev? When will Mickey realize he has a son? I need to be there for him. I can’t just do nothing. A few more days. I’ll give Mickey a few more days. It’s the best I can do. _

Ian returned to the couch and dozed off and on, not paying attention to what was on TV. He fell into a deeper sleep once Tami appeared a few hours later and carried Fred away. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

* * *

Ian waited until Tuesday before he started blowing up Mickey’s phone with texts. The brunet must have complained to Mandy, because she called the next morning to scold Ian, only to hear the desperation in his voice and give in. 

“Talk to him, Mickey!” Mandy shouted, and Ian pictured her shaking the phone at her brother until he obliged. 

“The fuck you want, Gallagher?” Mickey’s speech was slurred. He’d definitely been drinking, which was not a good sign at 9 a.m.

“Finally! I’ve been worried about you. Will you just fucking talk to me? It’s not like Terry’s tapping our phones.”

“Uh-huh. How ‘bout you quit with all the fuckin’ texts, bitch? Five minutes s’and that ‘sit.”

“Okay, okay.” Ian honestly wasn’t expecting Mickey to agree to talk to him, so he had to gather his thoughts quickly. “Look, I know this is a lot. All of it. And what Terry did was so-”

“Nope, not that, Gallagher. Try again.”

“Sorry! But you need to know you stood up to him. That night at the Alibi. You let him have it. And that was after you came to find me at the Fairy Tail and gave me a reason to stop getting high every night and got me reconnected with my family. You brought me to your house, even though your wife wasn’t too thrilled...” Ian was talking as fast as he could, probably saying more than he should, but too busy wondering if Mickey was going to hang up on him.

“Sssounds like true love,” Mickey scoffed. “That after I beat your ass ‘n you left town?”

“More stuff is coming back?”

Mickey took what sounded like a big-ass swig of something. “Yep. Just needed to get schloshed, I guess. I remember our what's-it-called - that building you tried to show me a few week s’ago. And then that fuckin’ joke of a wedding...and right before the wedding...and shit…”

“Yeah, I don’t think I really understood how trapped you were. Guess I thought we’d be okay...if we were together...”

“Always a fuckin’ optimist, Mister Rogers, ‘n how many time s’did I tell you to ‘fuck off’ before you finally did?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me to ‘fuck off’ and actually meant it,” Ian said softly. 

“C’mon, Gallagher. Should be glad you got a break from my broke-down ass. Why d’you stay with me, anyway? I drove you to prosh - wait wait wait, gimme a minute here - prostitute yourself in some shitty-ass nightclub, and that was s’after breakin’ your sad little heart.”

Ian gripped his phone, wanting to shake Mickey until he came to his senses. “That was only part of our story. There’s much more. There’s...there’s everything you did for me when I was sick, all the shit you put up with...and you still always found your way back to me.” Tears were rolling down Ian’s cheeks now, his frustration boiling over and erupting into words. “Fuck Terry! He’s a piece of shit! But he can’t hurt us anymore. Not if we don’t let him!”

Mickey fired back, “Maybe s’time to be grownups ‘stead of dumbass kids! Seems both of us‘ve been through enough, Gallagher. Time to move on ‘n cut our lossses.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” Ian shouted. _ Why did they have to go through this shit again? When were they going to catch a break? _“Mick, you’re drunk off your ass. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, well. You medicate your way, and I’ll, you know, do it my way. S’your five minutes. Fuck off.” 

And then Mickey hung up. And that was that.

* * *

Ian lay awake in the RV. Surprisingly, it was fairly comfortable despite the cold. Between Debbie and Lip’s know-how and skill with vehicles and construction, they had insulated and heated it to where it was cozy even in December, suitable for a baby to live in - their original plan. Debbie made sure the windows were sealed. RVs were notorious for being drafty, the walls thin and vulnerable to the elements.

A week had passed since Mickey threw Ian out of the Milkovich house. It felt like an eternity. This was the third straight night he hadn't been able to sleep, the stress of the situation with Mickey weighing heavily on his mind. And now...he was restless. Ian didn’t think he could fall asleep even if he wanted to, since his head was so full of ideas.

Absentmindedly, he reached up to pick at a spot of chipping paint in the crack he’d noticed, wondering if it was worth patching or if they’d have to paint the entire interior. They had all the time in the world, or at least all of the time in the world once Mickey was okay with coming around again.

_ Will it be soon? I really didn’t mean to yell at him. I mean, I’ve been going through this in my head, but it was kind of my fault for pushing him with the Alibi thing and his Uncle Ronnie - but then again, he would’ve eventually gotten it on his own. I hate going through this kind of stuff. Come on, Ian. Focus. Focus on something like this little missing paint chip in the RV. Maybe I could paint it blue, like Mickey’s eyes? I think he’d want green, like mine, and I wonder if paint shops will be open when I get out of work at the Alibi tomorrow? If not, they should be. _

Ian shook his head and chuckled to himself. Paint shops weren’t open at 3 a.m., but he thought it was funny to think they could be. This was something he could discuss later on with Mickey. Before they’d left Beckman, it was a given that Ian and Mickey would eventually have a place of their own, and privately Ian wanted it to be after he proposed to Mickey.

Even in the fucked-up world of the Gallagher clan, it was awkward for an engaged couple to be living in a house with so many people. Fiona didn’t live with them when she was married to that musician. _ Gus_? Ian forgot the guy’s last name. _ Sounded like a car part_. _ And Carl with that clingy chick, Kassidi, didn’t count. _

He got up and started pacing around. Ian picked up his phone and began to text Mandy, wondering if she was awake at this hour. _ Probably not. She has to wake up tomorrow and go into work at the hotel, and not everybody’s like me. At least she’s been giving me frequent updates on Mickey, Iggy’s babysitting him again and I bet that’s going really well. _

_ Of course it’s not going well, dumbass. You need to help him, _urged an inner voice. 

_ I’m fucking trying, _ he told himself_. I’m letting him work it out. I’m getting the RV ready for when we can start our life together and for when we can finally be away from all this stupid shit, like falls and amnesia and fear. _

Ian grimaced and thought about how even though he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all last night, he was still as rested and refreshed as he would have been if he’d slept a full eight hours. _ Weird. But hey, there’s always the possibility of going out for a run. Nobody will care if I leave because nobody else is up. _

Ian took out a light sweatshirt and a pair of track pants, thinking vaguely about the fact that it was now mid-December and he probably should bundle up more. But he didn’t care. He would be running, so it wouldn’t matter.

After putting on his sneakers and shutting the door to the RV behind him, Ian took a deep breath and watched the cloud of vapor as he exhaled. It was cold, sure. But the thought of being stuck in the confines of that RV was a million times worse. As he briefly stretched his legs before setting off at a brisk pace, it dawned on him that he could barely feel the cold at all. He didn’t have a hat or gloves on and his nose was running from the cold, but he hardly noticed over the overwhelming desire to get outside and just be doing_ something _at all.

_ When I’m this busy with things and I’ve got so much going on in my head, even if it’s just stupid little things like what kinds of paint projects I’m going to be working on tomorrow night, it helps. But why the hell can’t paint shops be open in the middle of the night, dammit! People suck with their regular hours and inability to stay up late and it really annoys the hell out of me. I mean, it’s actually kind of nice to get out and do something when nobody else is around, being annoying and getting in your way, and it feels so peaceful, like you just need to escape and get away from everything and get lost in your thoughts and see how nice everything around you is. People don’t appreciate it. Our house is so goddamn annoying and loud, and I don’t want to look at that stupid crack in the roof of the RV again. I’m getting paint tomorrow. I’m not going to wait, I’m just going to go ahead. _

Ian didn’t realize how long he’d been out. He spent some of the time walking and taking in the array of Christmas lights, chintzy snowmen, and reindeer decorations decorating some of the houses a few blocks away. With the gentrification of the South Side - that he and Fiona had gotten into a pissing match about - there were a lot more of them now, compared to Christmases from when they were kids. But he didn’t care. There were way more important things to worry about than stupid turf wars, and the lights and decorations were kind of nice. 

Ian checked his phone and realized he’d been gone for hours. He decided to head home for coffee. As he neared the house, Ian could see there were lights on downstairs. When he went inside, Debbie was sitting at the kitchen table, pouring a glass of orange juice. She jumped as her older brother approached.

“Ian?” she said cautiously. “What are you doing up? It’s 6 a.m.”

“I was out for a run,” he said. “I just felt like I had to get out and do something, you know? I hated the feeling of being cooped up in that RV and just wanted to be outside. It’s refreshing.”

Debbie sipped her juice, then gave Ian a look. “Refreshing? It’s the middle of December. It’s like 20 degrees out. There’s snow on the ground. And you were outside wearing just _ that_?” She gestured to his sweatshirt, track pants and sneakers. “What the fuck? There’s a foot of snow on the ground and you aren’t wearing an actual coat. You call that _refreshing_?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied. “I didn’t really care that it was cold. It’s not like we’re in the middle of a blizzard. We do live in Chicago, after all.”

His sister finished another big gulp of her drink, but the quizzical look didn’t budge from her face. “How long have you been up?”

“I took a nap for about an hour and a half,” Ian lied, not wanting to reveal he hadn’t slept at all. “But I’m fine. I don’t really feel like I need more than that. I feel like I’ve gotten a full night of sleep, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

He flopped on the couch and turned on the TV. “I’m going to watch Netflix. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

“Not much,” Debbie said. “Typical Monday. I’ve got a welding job for a construction company. They’re building in the neighborhood where Fiona used to own that apartment complex, and then I have a date. But I was thirsty and needed a drink. I’m going to go back to bed.”

“Really? A date? Sleep tight,” Ian responded.

After Debbie had gone upstairs, he flipped to a documentary on the McDonald’s Monopoly scam from the early 2000s, remembering how Frank and Monica would insist that he, Lip and Fiona dig around in the trash cans outside of the local McDonald’s for those game pieces. They’d always come up short on the railroads and, of course, Boardwalk and Park Place.

Before long, the Gallagher house began to come alive with the usual bustling and activity. Carl came bounding downstairs in his makeshift police cadet outfit, going on about how the teenagers in his charge were too soft to be able to hold up to his “unorthodox” methods. At least that coworker of his - _ Anne? _\- had moved her large family out a while ago and it was fairly quiet now. Liam got ready to go to school and left after giving everyone high fives.

Debbie came back downstairs with Franny and poured her a bowl of cereal and milk as she fussed with her phone. Lip and Tami followed, Tami looking about as well-rested as she could have been. Lip didn’t look much better. He nodded in his brother’s general direction as Ian distractedly waved in response.

“What’re you watching?” asked Lip.

“Some documentary about that McDonald’s Monopoly scam a while back,” Ian responded. “Did you know mobsters were involved? Like, actual dudes in the mob.”

“Interesting,” Lip said, not sounding like he was interested at all. “Yo, have you seen my keys? I gotta run some errands before I head off to work. Have you seen them?”

“I haven’t. Isn’t that what they call ‘baby brain,’ where you don’t remember shit?”

Lip raised his middle finger in response. “Oh and Debbie? Hope your date goes well. Who is it this time - a chick or a dude? Can’t really keep track of it anymore.”

“None of your business,” she shot back.

Ian snorted to himself as he got up and poured himself a drink from the water pitcher in the refrigerator. It vaguely occurred to him he ought to check in with Mandy, and of course, he was concerned about Mickey and missed talking to him. But since his boyfriend asked for space, he wanted to give it to him. For now, he really needed to take his mind elsewhere with the RV paint he couldn’t wait to get done.

Trying not to let himself go too far down this rabbit hole, Ian absentmindedly went to his phone and began to look through news articles. He came across one about hacking and cybersecurity, and it dawned on him that all of his articles and YouTube videos about Gay Jesus were still online for anybody to see. If he hoped to get any sort of stable employment, it was very likely to be a stumbling block that could hurt his chances of future employment. He had to do something. His PO wouldn’t help.

He picked up Debbie’s laptop, which had more or less become a family commodity, and started to Google his name. Unsurprisingly, it turned up tons of embarrassing photos and videos from the ill-fated stint that ultimately reunited him with Mickey. He knew there was a good chance it would still be there - but it was still disheartening. He thought, even more disturbingly, back to the porno he’d made while manic.

_ Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea. They probably all know about it - my PO, everyone I will ever work for in the future. They’re probably all looking at it now! They’re all watching these videos and seeing all this shit about me, and if I apply to work for them, employers google names of prospective hires and it’s already bad enough I have a record. I’m going to go through each one of these and see if I can get the Google removal tool to take them down. I hope so. I really can’t leave even more of a trail than I’ve already left online. Fuck, what if Mickey finds the porno? Jesus, I can’t believe I hurt him. Shit, he’s probably not going to want to deal with my shit again. Can’t say I blame him. It’s a lot. _

Ian was still on the computer when Lip returned home from work, throwing his jacket onto one of the dining room chairs and sighing.

“Yo,” said Lip. “What’ve you been doing? You been here all day? Don’t you have work tonight? Probably ought to start getting ready.”

“Hey, Lip,” Ian said. “Did you ever think about how it might not be a good idea to have so much of your stuff on social media? I kind of did and I realized, especially with my record, it might not be good for me to have so many pictures of myself online. I requested a bunch of links be removed from Google. Can’t be too certain with so much shit getting hacked and all. Too much can go wrong. People watch you. They’re always watching you from somewhere, and they have so many ways to do it wherever you go.”

Lip’s eyebrows retreated toward his forehead in an unintentional, but no less uncanny imitation of Mickey. Ian found it amusing.

“Dude,” he said. “Debbie told me you got only an hour and a half of sleep last night and you were out running in the middle of the night. Now you’re going on and on about cybersecurity when, as an ex-hacker myself, I have our computers locked down like Fort Knox. You normally don’t give a shit about this. And you’re worried about people stalking you from a few pictures?”

“Well, yeah,” Ian said. “It’s bad enough those videos will never go away. Got to make sure and all because people look up your info and send SWAT teams to your house. You know - internet trolls. Not sure what you did with the computer, but I have some more new ideas. I also want to paint the RV ceiling. It has a crack and I wonder how long it’s been sitting like that.”

Lip sat down next to him on the couch. “Ian,” he said. “I think you need to call your doctor and see if you need your meds adjusted. Hey -” he said, cutting Ian off as the redhead began to open his mouth in protest. “Please listen. You have been taking them and all, right?”

“Yes,” Ian said, visibly irritated.

“Well, please call your doctor as soon as you can. I think you need it. Have you talked to Mickey at all? I know you said he doesn’t want to see you because of shit involving his dad maybe threatening you. You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just super restless and keyed up. I’ll be able to sleep tonight, since eventually I’m going to just run out of steam. I’ll give my doctor a call tomorrow.”

“Just let me know when you’ve done it, because we’re concerned. The stuff with Mickey probably is fucking with your mental health. You know what? I’ll send Mickey a text and let him know. If I know him, he is going to be worried, too.”

“Lip, just don’t, alright? He’s not going to want to talk to me,” Ian said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Like you said, he’s got his own shit he’s dealing with, and so I am I.”

“Fine, but I’m at least letting V and Kev know you aren’t coming in tonight.”

“Fuck, they should fire me. I’d fire me. By the way, do you know anything about repainting RVs? Not sure if I told you or if you know already, but there’s a crack and some chipping paint in the one outside and it’s bugging me. I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. You should’ve fixed it while you were there with Tami. Then I wouldn’t have to look at it.”

His older brother sighed. “Give me your phone, dude. We’re calling your shrink now.”

Lip waited patiently while Ian spoke to his psychiatrist. After listening and asking a few questions, she instructed him to take extra half pills each day until she could see him at an in-person appointment. Part of Ian wanted to be annoyed, but Lip was just looking out for him and he had to be willing to admit when things weren’t feeling quite right. He considered the video he’d shot years ago as an EMT, the reminder to himself to engage in self-care and go home when it felt like his moods were off.

Ian knew it would take several days for the dosage to start making a difference, and longer for the full effect. Thankfully, V and Kev, who knew about the situation, were more than happy to give him a few extra days off from work. Ian decided he would keep himself occupied by continuing to go for runs, anything to keep his mind off of Mickey, anything to stop himself from defying his boyfriend’s wishes and catching the L over to Mandy’s apartment.


	20. Chapter 20

Mickey could count on one hand the number of times he’d been this wasted. It was probably more, but since there were still years of his life that were the equivalent of a black hole in his brain, who the fuck really knew?

He remembered the first time he got drunk - at the ripe old age of 9 years old. His father and brothers had gotten him liquored up one night after his mom and sister were asleep. Shots of cheap vodka. Two or three, not enough to kill him but plenty to make him stumble around the living room and fall asleep in his own piss. They were all laughing at him, shoving him around, and he was overcome with a feeling of losing total control. At first, it scared the fuck out of him, but fear was not an option as a Milkovich, so he learned to just go with it.

Drinking was just a thing they did. The Milkovich men. And later, Mandy. His mother mostly abstained—she saw how it turned her husband and children even more violent. One night, Terry went on on a bender and threw a beer bottle through the TV screen. Days later, he told the kids their good-for-nothing mother ran out on them, but was vague on the details. No one dared to question him. Hopefully, she’d be back. 

For Mickey, alcohol became a numbing agent, and it was exactly what he needed under the current circumstances. 

_ Who the fuck knows what else is going to come back before all of this is said and done? If this shit with Gallagher is any indication of what else there is to come, I’ll just stay drunk. It’s better to feel nothing than keep faking that it doesn’t bother me, like I have to fake everything about my life so my dad doesn’t kill me. _

Unpleasant truths were still flooding back in spite of the alcohol. _Gallagher and Mandy were right when they said I was better off not knowing some things. So this_ _was the “relationship” I kept trying to pry out of Gallagher. That was no “relationship”; it was living hell._

The 3:03 a.m. on the clock caught his eye as he leaned over to take another swig of vodka from the bottle. Mandy had let him raid her liquor supply against her better judgement, but she seemed to empathize with him. She was very intuitive, more so than she usually let on, so she probably had an idea of what was going on in Mickey’s head. 

He thought she’d gone to sleep, having gotten him settled in the room and asking him repeatedly if he was okay. He wasn’t, but what difference did it make? Mickey didn’t have much to say, so Mandy had gone to bed. Or so he thought, until he heard a light tapping on the door.

“Mickey? You still awake? Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, wondering if sleep would ever come. 

She opened the door and came inside, pausing at the edge of the bed. “Can I sit?” Mandy asked, her hair disheveled, like she’d been tossing and turning for a few hours.

“It’s your place, can’t really stop you.”

She sat down, pried the bottle of liquor from his hands, and took a sip. “I know Dad must have done something absolutely diabolical to you, because that’s what he does and he wouldn’t be Dad if he didn’t,” she said softly. “That kind of crying doesn’t come from nowhere, and you aren’t the type to do it.”

He said nothing and held out his hand for Mandy to return the bottle. He’d stayed silent about the details of what had happened for going on seven years, so why change that? 

“Anyway, I’ve seen that look on faces enough to know when to leave well enough alone. But I’m here when you want to talk. Okay?”

“Thanks,” he managed while trying to maintain his usual front.

“I don’t like to think about it, and I fucking hate talking about it, but did you ever know about how Dad hurt me?”

Mickey paused, his mind racing with all of the many ways Terry had fucked them all over. He looked into his sister’s eyes and saw a pain he’d seen in his own eyes. _ Fuck. _ He must have known what Terry had done to her at some point because the memory came back to him, the memory of being told. Maybe it was Ian and maybe he didn’t want to believe it, but now he was filled with a fresh rage and a greater sense of being powerless. That fucking monster.

“Don’t know why nobody ain’t offed that fucker yet,” he spat, knowing his words weren’t exactly comforting. Mickey offered his sister the bottle of vodka again. “Piece of shit…”

She nodded and accepted the bottle. “I think this day has been so fucking terrible, I might as well join you in getting shitfaced.” 

“Fuck, yeah. And fuck Terry!”

After a few rounds of passing the bottle back and forth, Mandy curled up against Mickey. He initially tensed up and shrank back against the wall, and she backed away; but as he began to doze off, he let her move in closer as they fell into fitful sleep. By the time he woke up the next morning, she was already gone for work. 

Mickey did very little but drink that day. He turned his phone off, trying not to think about Ian. He put the television on for background noise. The images and sounds were blurry and jumbled, but it was better than silence. He dozed off and on, eating a bite or two of whatever Mandy had in the fridge. When she got home, he said very little when she tried to get him to talk.

“You really need to text Ian. He’s been worried about you,” Mandy told him.

He wasn’t about to tell her, but the last thing Mickey wanted to remember was the look on Ian’s face that fucked-up morning. In between his alcohol-induced haze, Mickey had begun to remember a lot of heavy drinking he’d done in the weeks after Terry had caught them together in the house seven years ago. 

A memory of kicking the shit out of Ian came to him in a dream that night. He woke up abruptly, gasping for air, knowing it hadn’t been a dream. No, it had been something very real he’d done to Ian, out of fear and anger, and to keep the stupid kid out of his life and away from Terry’s wrath.

* * *

_ The abandoned buildings were once a place where Ian and Mickey would hide away from the world and all of the shit in it, their safe place where nothing could bother them and nobody could find them. Now, it was hell on earth. Gallagher didn’t get the hint to stay the fuck away from him. He didn’t want to be touched. Fingers on him still felt like they burned his skin. But the ginger fuck followed him here. _

_ Mickey didn’t want Ian near him, because all he could see was the look on his face from two months ago. That was the last time Mickey saw him since he finally made it official and fucked off from school for good. The only worthwhile reason for even showing up at all was gone. If it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system, he wasn’t sure if he could keep up the facade long enough to avoid breaking down into bitter sobs._

_ Soon enough, the kid started in on him as Mickey tried his best to ignore him. _

_ “You're getting married? Who is it? Is it Angie Zago, or some other piece of trash you screw so you can pretend I don't matter to you?” _

_ You do matter to me. I’m so sorry you had to hear that from someone else. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am. Please leave me alone because I don’t want Dad to hurt you, or kill you. I did what I had to do to get him off our backs. Don’t make it be for nothing. And for fuck’s sake, don’t make me remember what I’ve been killing my liver to make myself forget. _

_ But he couldn’t say any of that. Mickey stared off into space until Ian grabbed the liquor bottle out of his hand and smashed it. _

_ “Hey, what the fuck, Gallagher!” _

_ “Oh, he speaks!” _

_ “That’s it? We're over? Your dad beats the shit out of us, and you're just gonna get married, no conversation? Nothing?” _

_ That’s not true. I don’t want us to be over. I wish more than anything we could still be together, that I could see you every day instead of being forced to marry someone I don’t love, I can’t even bear to look at, much less be forced to raise a fucking kid at 18 I don’t want and won’t even be able to stand to look at, either. Not like I have any say in the matter. If there’s any justice at all in the world, the bitch will miscarry._

_Mickey had gone outside, and Gallagher had followed him._

_ Please...stop! Will you just get the hint? I just want to be left the fuck alone! Back off because I don’t want to see anybody right now, and just fucking stay the fuck away before you get both of us killed once and for all! _

_ Most of all...please don’t make me do this. _

_ “Get the fuck off me!” _

_ “Oh, you want to fag bash? That make you feel_ _ like a man?”_

_ A wave of anger, of feeling like he was being suffocated came over him._

_ “Come on. Go ahead! Do it!” _

_ Even through the haze of the alcohol clogging his brain, Mickey felt like a wounded animal lashing out, backed into a corner, just acting on adrenaline and the fight-or-flight response. His gut wrenched, but it was done._

_ It became harder and harder to fight back tears. The idiot still didn’t get the hint. _

_ “You love me...and you're gay. Just admit it, just this once. Just fucking admit it.” _

_ “You feel better now? You feel like a man?” _

_ Mickey hated himself even more. It wasn’t Ian Gallagher he was kicking. It wasn’t the boy he loved more than anything in the world, but who was just too perfect for him to have. _

_ He was kicking the shit out of himself. _

_ “I feel better now.” _

_ But he hadn’t been able to kick that stupid sense of optimism out of Ian. The kid didn’t listen. He didn’t get it, and he’d even tried one last time to convince Mickey otherwise in the basement of the VW, right before he married his skank of a bride. He didn’t want Ian to see this farce of a ceremony and Mickey promising himself to some stranger.  
_

_But Mickey couldn’t blurt out what he was thinking. None of the truly awful things leaving his mouth that day, hollow words that meant less than the ugly ring she put on his finger, were what he was thinking. _

“_Don’t…” _

_ It felt like a bullet was tearing through his chest to think of Ian getting a bullet through his own in whatever-Stan. To think he’d never see him again. But Ian was an idiot for thinking anything could work between them. At least he’d had the sense to get the fuck out of town when he realized he and Mickey couldn’t be together. He deserved more than a coward who didn’t deserve love or more than a piece of paper. _

* * *

  
On Tuesday when Mickey turned on his phone, texts began flooding in, one after the other.

“Tell Gallagher to leave me the fuck alone! He needs to stay at his clown car house so we won’t have to worry about getting shot.”

Mandy acted like she would and made a big deal about texting Ian, but it didn’t stop.

By the time he went to bed, Mickey was pissed. He tried to ignore the incessant chiming before fumbling clumsily with his phone to turn it on vibrate. Mandy would be pulling early morning doubles at the hotel all week, which was lucky. Mickey hadn’t gone to work either yesterday or today, but Mandy was none the wiser. He was glad he’d be spared the lecture.

Now oblivious to the morning light breaking through the window, Mickey figured Mandy would be leaving soon, but he was surprised to hear his sister’s angry voice coming from behind her closed door. It sounded like she was calling the person on the other end of the line an asshole. None of it made sense until his sister flung the door open, waved her iPhone in his face and screeched, “Talk to him, Mickey!”

Mickey groaned, grabbed the phone and fumbled with it before holding it to his ear. It took a surprising amount of concentration to mumble, “The fuck you want, Gallagher?”

“Finally! I’ve been worried about you.” Ian’s voice sounded like a complicated mix of panicked and relieved. “Will you just fucking talk to me? It’s not like Terry’s tapping our phones.”

_ No, but he probably knows somebody who’d know how to do it. I don’t know. I’m too fucking drunk to think about specifics, and I really don’t want to deal with this bullshit. _

“Uh-huh. How about you quit with all the fuckin’ texts, bitch? Five minutes and that’s it.”

“Okay, okay.” A pause came from the other end of the line. “Look, I know this is a lot. All of it. And what Terry did was so-”

“Nope, not that, Gallagher. Try again.”

_ I really don’t want to have this conversation now. Just leave me to my fucking alcohol. _

“Sorry! But you need to know you stood up to him. That night at the Alibi. You let him have it. And that was after you came to find me at the Fairy Tail and gave me a reason to stop getting high every night and got me reconnected with my family,” Ian said, talking faster. He sounded like he was trying to beat a buzzer on a game show. “You brought me to your house, even though your wife wasn’t too thrilled...” 

Mickey scoffed. “Sounds like true love. That after I beat your ass and you left town?”

“More stuff is coming back?”

Mickey set Mandy’s phone down so he could take another long sip of vodka. “Yep. Just needed to get sloshed, I guess,” he continued. “I remember our…what's it called? That building you tried to show me a few weeks ago. And then that fuckin’ joke of a wedding - and right before the wedding and shit…”

“Yeah, I don’t think I really understood how trapped you were. Guess I thought we’d be okay...if we were together...”

_ No fucking kidding. I guess he thought Dad was just going to blow off steam before holding hands with us and singing “Kumbaya.” _

“Always a fuckin’ optimist, Mister Rogers. And how many times did I tell you to ‘fuck off’ before you finally did?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me to ‘fuck off’ and actually meant it,” Ian replied.

Mickey could barely hear him. “Come on, Gallagher. Should be glad you got a break from my broke-down ass. Why did you stay with me, anyway? I drove you to prost-”

He stumbled over the word. _ Why the hell didn’t he just say “whoring”? _

“Wait, wait, wait. Give me a minute here - prostitute yourself in some shitty-ass nightclub, and that was after breakin’ your sad little heart.”

“That was only part of our story. There’s much more. There’s...there’s everything you did for me when I was sick, all the shit you put up with...and you still always found your way back to me,” Ian cried out, sounding choked up with emotion. “Fuck Terry! He’s a piece of shit! But he can’t hurt us anymore. Not if we don’t let him!”

_ Are you fucking kidding me? He’s still alive, so he’s still going to be able to send some of his Aryan Brotherhood buddies after us, or some of his Mexican drug cartel associates, or someone!_

_Just...whatever happened to what’s-her-name? My wife. Was there ever even a kid? They aren’t here and nobody’s even mentioned them. But enough is enough. I’m done with this shit _

“Maybe it’s time to be grownups instead of dumbass kids! Seems both of us have been through enough, Gallagher. Time to move on and cut our losses.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” By now, Ian was yelling. “Mick, you’re drunk off your ass. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, well. You medicate your way, and I’ll, you know, do it my way. That’s your five minutes. Fuck off.”

* * *

The rest of the day faded in and out. Mickey’s thoughts clouded, and he felt like he was in a daze, kind of like when he woke up in the hospital, completely disoriented. He remembered how he’d noticed the weird scars on just his right hand - and how they weren’t on the left one. They stood out from the numerous others around them because they were the wrong shape. More wear and tear from fighting was no surprise, but these weren’t from a fistfight. 

Now he knew the origins of those scars. He’d punched the mirror in his bathroom and fucked up his hand. What caused him to do that? Probably months of being without Ian, not knowing if he was dead or alive or coming back. Mickey felt like his life was empty, even with a wife and a baby on the way. He blamed himself for letting the redhead leave town. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter. 

_ How did his life go from jerking off to a photo of Gallagher hidden in a magazine, to now? _Mickey realized the photo was still in his room, mixed in with all his things from Beckman. He must have kept it all those years in between that summer he’d snapped the picture and wherever the fuck he’d been since then. 

A few hours later, Iggy stopped over with dinner, and Mandy came home from work to join them. Mickey carelessly let it slip that he hadn’t gone to work at all in the three days that had passed since his breakdown on Sunday. She demanded an explanation from both of her brothers, wheedling out of Iggy how he’d shrugged Mickey off each time he came to pick his younger brother up for work and found him drunk.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mandy shouted at Iggy. “You’re letting Mickey play hooky when you know he needs a job when his PO checks on him! He’s going to get his ass fired, and you’re just enabling him!”

“What am I supposed to fuckin’ do, have him work on a construction site while he’s shitfaced?! I ain’t his keeper!” Iggy shot back. “Chill the fuck out, alright? I had it taken care of. Forged a doctor’s note - our boss took it and said nothin’. Mick’s set until Friday.”

Mandy waved off her brother’s explanation and turned to Mickey. “I have some idea what you’re feeling. But you can’t keep going on like this. You can’t keep killing yourself. This is what I want you to do, and Ian will back me up: go through the list of PTSD and mental health specialists Dr. Peterson gave you. Please. You’ve been trying to do things on your own for too long, and you have people on your side who love you.”

“The fuck is a head shrinker gonna do for me?” Mickey grumbled.

“You have so much trauma in your past. So do I. So do all of us, growing up with Terry Milkovich as a father. People want to help you.”

“I can help myself.”

“I know you can. We’ve all survived so much terrible shit we were born into and couldn’t control. But like I told Ian years ago: just because you’re born here, doesn’t mean you have to stay here. I meant that about the South Side, but it’s true for anything. We were born into horrific stuff, but we don’t have to continue it.”

Maybe Mandy was right, but booze was cheaper and didn’t talk back, didn’t make you say the things that were easier to bury. Mickey’s mind wandered back to the scene from Ronnie’s video. Was he wasted when he came out like that to Terry? They were at a bar, so probably. Why else would he have had the balls to do what he did?

The answer hit him the next evening. Mickey remembered being at the Alibi celebrating something or other. _ He was nervous as fuck, but why? _

_ Everything had gone to hell. Terry was getting out of prison and coming to hold his grandson for the first time, and Ian was on Mickey’s ass about not hiding their relationship anymore. _

_ Mickey felt like everything was crumbling. Why the fuck was Ian doing this? Why today, on the day of his son’s christening, with everyone they knew hanging around at the Alibi? Why now? Why was this so fucking urgent that he couldn’t wait a few hours? _

_ Did Ian think it had been easy, all those months waiting and wondering what had happened to him? Did he get shipped overseas, get his head blown off? Or maybe he’d found his calling, and he would never come back at all. _

_ But then Lip had stopped by the house, asking for Mickey’s help, telling him Ian was in trouble. And Mickey had already sworn up and down, left and right, that if Ian did ever come back, he wouldn’t let him go again. Not fucking ever. He was the only thing to ever give Mickey the slightest hope the world wasn’t a complete and utter shithole. _

_ So yeah, maybe he’d driven Ian away, and yeah, Ian had come crashing down, but it didn’t have to be the end. Mickey would be there for him. Away from Terry’s reach, they could be together. _

_ It had worked for a while. Mickey moved in with Ian to his shithole of a room he shared with his little brothers. He went with him to the Fairy Tail and managed to stomach the viagroids lusting after Ian. _

_ Even with his bitch of a wife popping a kid out and demanding he play house - or at least give her some dough - Mickey was unmoved when she’d come by with the baby. She’d named him Yevgeny. For her father, she’d said. But he didn’t care. He had no responsibility to a kid who was...made the way he was. Every moment in the house with her - he couldn’t even say her name - was worse than anything juvie threw at him. _

_ So Mickey didn’t even bother trying to see the baby. How could he be sure it was his? And anyway, if it was his kid...well...it’s not like he’d had a say so in the matter. Mandy berated him and called him an asshole, but she didn’t know why and he couldn’t bear to tell her. _

_Terry was proud of him - or proud of himself for thinking a wife and a baby would turn Mickey straight. But there was something about showing off the kid to his old man. It was a cover, sure, but some sad, sick, twisted part of him wanted to make Terry proud. Jesus, what had that fuck done to him? To Mandy? To all of them? So out of pure obligation, he went to the christening. _

_ And fucking Gallagher, acting like he just couldn’t take it anymore. Did he want to fucking die? Did he want Mickey to die? So fucking what if the two of them couldn’t hold hands and walk down the street like a couple of fags at a pride parade? Maybe one day they’d get the hell out of the South Side, and it wouldn’t matter what Terry knew or didn’t know. But not yet. _

_ “Why the fuck you acting like a girl, huh?” Mickey had asked Ian, who was seated at the bar in the Alibi. He didn’t want to deal with this. He just wanted to get through this farce and then - then what? Would he just go back to living with his dad again, sneaking around? _

_ Ian beat him to the punch. “I’m sick of living a lie. Aren't you?” _

_ “I'm not lying to you,” retorted Mickey. _

_ “Everyone else?” _

_ “Who gives a shit about everybody else? What fuckin’ difference does it make if I lie to them?” _

_ “Because...because you're not free,” Ian said. _

_ “Ian, what you and I have makes me free, not what these assholes know,” Mickey replied. He knew he meant it. Those fleeting moments of freedom, what he’d experienced in the past few months, had truly saved him. _

_ But Svetlana wasn’t easing up, threatening again to share his secret with Terry. Mickey coldly told her to keep her fucking mouth shut, reminding her that, if she screwed this up, she’d never have it so good as under Terry’s roof. Mickey could tell from her face: she knew it, too. _

_ Internally, he was starting to panic. He hoped his acknowledgement of how much Ian meant to him, or at least what he could say in his own way, was enough. But Ian was on the fucking warpath, obsessed that Mickey had to make his choice right then and there, right now. Mickey tried to diffuse the situation, telling Ian he’d see him back at the place. He didn’t mention how he had no idea what to do from there. _

_ “No, don't. We're done.” _

_ “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” _

_ “I don't have any interest in being a mistress anymore.” _

_ Hadn’t Mickey already proven how he felt, starting with the day he went to Ian at the Gallagher house and had practically begged Ian to take him back? He’d agreed to blow him whenever he wanted, not knowing if Ian was serious or not - but even if he wasn’t, Mickey would do it. He’d take that dick however Ian wanted to give it to him, because attached to those nine inches was the person he had to be with, come hell or high water. _

_ And hell and high water were both Terry Milkovich. Mickey decided he was going to rip off the Band-Aid, because it was the only way he knew how. He was tired and, with his next words, he upended his entire fucking life. _

_ “Can I get everybody's attention, please? I just want everybody here to know I'm fuckin’ gay. A big old 'mo. I just thought everybody should know that. You happy now?” _

_ He’d told them all, and he was prepared to die in that moment. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. His father probably would have beaten him to death, but Ian stayed and fought back. They’d done something they hadn’t the power to do the other time, something Mickey had been powerless to do most of his life. But he was done. In that moment, he believed in something. Them. He believed in them. _

Mickey was locked in the bathroom, staring at his reflection. He touched his nose. This explained why, when he first looked in a mirror last month, his nose was more crooked than he could explain. I guess _ Dad broke it at least twice, within a year of each other. _It also very much explained why Iggy kept telling Mickey about how he came out to “like 50 people at once”.

_ That’s why Ian wanted me to see the video, and what he was talking about on the phone. I already fought this battle and won, and I didn’t even know it until now. _Scenes from Ronnie’s video, the one that less than a week ago felt like a YouTube clip from a TV show, fell into place like so many Tetris pieces.

_ “I’ve been stayin’ at Ian's since you've been in the can, bitch! Guess what we've been doin’, Daddy! We've been fucking!” _

_ “He gives it to me good and hard, and I fuckin’ like it!” _

_ “Fuck you! I suck his dick! I fuckin’ love it!” _

_ They’d gone back to the Milkovich house later, cleaned each other’s wounds and fucked all night. Mickey couldn’t remember a time when he’d come any harder, or felt as free or - fuck, he hated the word - _ happy_. He’d been happy to be in Ian’s arms, despite the pain of his broken nose, split lip and bruised jaw, despite cringing at the way Ian would wince if Mickey so much as breathed near his rib cage. They were broken, but their bones would heal. Together. _

“Mickey! Are you okay in there?” Mandy called.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there! Calm your tits!”

Mickey thought back to when Iggy said their dad tried to kill him when he came out. Terry tried, but failed. He and Ian looked attempted murder in the eye and lived. A surge of pride, something he didn’t feel very often, filled him. 

Still, Mickey had a feeling in his gut: it wasn’t happily ever after that night. He was certain they must have hurt each other, since they were a pair of stupid kids with the shittiest luck on the planet. And at least one prison stint; maybe there was more. But whatever had happened, Mickey couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d want by his side to relive it. 

They were together, despite everything. We _ are together; should be together; will be together. Just need to be sure I can do this. _


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! We're making this chapter and future chapters a bit longer. More to love, right? :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It was the following Wednesday, and Ian was regretting not going Christmas shopping with Lip, who had the day off. Instead, he was holed up in the RV, thinking about going back to work the next day and wondering what caring but insensitive remark Kev would make about him being out. 

The adjustment to his meds seemed to be working. At least Ian wasn’t obsessing over the paint cracks in the RV anymore. Instead, he was reading sections of his EMT exam prep materials. Not exactly thrilling stuff, but it was familiar and gave him some comfort.

Ian hadn’t even intended to pull out the exam books; he’d gone to the attic earlier in the day to look for “Mickey era” mementos he’d kept all this time. Lip had noticed just as Ian was descending the ladder with the stack of books, and the elder Gallagher couldn’t help but make one of his smartass comments. 

“At least some good came out of that dumpster fire of a relationship. What was that guy’s name? Caleb? The firefighter? You guys, shall we say, crashed and burned. Get it?”

Ian rolled his eyes, but Lip continued. “If it’s any indicator of what he was actually like on the job, I wouldn’t trust him to put out a candle.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ian huffed, though he had to admit Lip was making some pretty good puns.

“Well, you still have all those books, so might be worth a shot, yeah? Getting back into the EMT thing,” Lip said as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. “You’ve always been good at applying yourself if it’s something you really want to accomplish.”

Ian ignored the voice in his head, reminding him it was unlikely he could work in the medical field anytime soon with his criminal record. However, his PO had mentioned a waiver he could apply for in a few years. It wouldn’t hurt if he went and got a two-year degree while he waited. There was still a future for him - and Mickey - somewhere in all of this.

A week had gone by since Mickey had actually been willing to speak to him via Mandy’s phone. It was eating away at Ian, not being able to call or see his boyfriend when thoughts about their future popped into his head. His siblings were trying to keep Ian occupied and involved in whatever activities they could entice him with - mostly anything that involved food. Fiona was also texting him, urging him to be patient with Mickey, reminding him that they’d been through worse.

_ Just give him more time, Ian. Be there for him whenever he comes back. And when he’s comfortable opening up. _

But Ian couldn’t take it any longer. _ Fuck being patient. _ He was going over to Mandy’s place, and he’d do whatever it took to convince Mickey that they _ could _ protect each other, that there was no way in hell they were better off without the other one.

_ Shit. Wait. _Before he put on his boots, Ian was gripped with another fear. What if Mickey had remembered more than what had happened with Terry? What about Ian’s bipolar, the infidelity and their breakup? What if Mickey realized that for as much shit as they’d already been through, Ian had essentially left him, not once, but twice - first to rot in prison, and second to flee to Mexico by himself? Shit, whatever happened, they still weren’t out of the woods.

_ I need to tell him everything myself. I need to explain why he has those tattoos. I’ll just have to face the consequences - might as well put it all out there, _he decided boldly before slipping into his boots, lacing them up, and throwing on his coat.

He made it only a few yards down the sidewalk when he changed his mind and doubled back. _ No, you idiot. Mickey still needs time. No point in fucking everything up now. _

It was quiet when he stepped inside the house. Most of the Gallaghers were still at work. It was 3 o’clock and school ended at 2:30; Ian hoped Liam was with Lip versus Frank. Debbie vaguely mentioned having a new sitter for Franny. There was no baby crying, so Fred must have been at his grandparents’ house with Tami.

At any rate, Ian didn’t want to go back to the RV. He went upstairs and into the room he used to share with Lip, Carl and Liam. Ian stretched out onto his old bed, and tried to read a magazine: some old military rag Carl had lying around. There were some articles Ian might have found interesting back in the day, but not anymore. Unable to focus on the words, he gave up and decided to try for a nap. 

* * *

_"Gallagher?” _

A voice broke through the haze inside Ian’s mind. He’d been able to fall asleep, thankfully, but that voice was all too familiar. _ Could it really be? _Ian was vaguely aware of what his doctor said about his meds. His body was still getting used to the increased dosage and it wouldn’t have taken full effect yet, even though his recent symptoms were gone. But he didn’t think he was in any sort of state where he’d be hallucinating.

Ian opened his eyes. Sure enough, Mickey was standing over him with a concerned expression on his face, his eyes as blue as ever. A feeling of profound relief washed over Ian as he bolted upright. Mickey had told him to stay away, but now here he was, inches away, all of that space he needed seemingly gone for the moment.

“M-Mickey?” the redhead said, still groggy. “What are you doing here?”

“Missed your naggin’ ass, Gallagher. What can I say?” He flopped down on the bed, almost landing on Ian’s legs. “And your brother texted me to tell me your meds were off.”

“You know about my meds...and my illness?”

Mickey nodded firmly. “Yeah. Been checking with Lip here and there to make sure you’re okay.”

“You have?” Ian gulped. So he _ did _ remember Ian’s bipolar. But what about the cheating and their breakup? If Mickey was upset, he wasn’t showing it...yet.

“Does that mean you’re back? For good?” Ian asked, moving so he was seated next to Mickey, wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him. But maybe Mickey didn’t want that. He shoved his hands under his thighs, where they were safer.

“Depends,” Mickey responded, turning towards Ian and inching close enough that Ian could feel his warm breath on his face.

_ Whatever you want, Mick. Whatever you want. _

“Depends on what?”

Mickey’s lips were so close to his, Ian could practically feel their softness. He needed those lips pressing against his. He just had to wait until he was sure - 

“Will you suck my dick whenever I want?”

“Will I -” _ Oh, fuck. _ He’d walked right into that one. Ian pulled back, unsure whether he should take Mickey’s request seriously. 

The older man was throwing that slightly shitty thing Ian said years ago in his face. Back then, he hadn’t actually expected Mickey to meet his demand, kind of hoped he would in that moment, but he’d never brought it up again. And Ian would do it now for Mickey. In fact, he’d do it right this second, except Mickey had been through a week and a half of hell. _ Maybe he’s just making a joke to break the ice after days of no contact. _

“Cat got your tongue, Gallagher?” Mickey asked, his face still not giving away his intent. 

“I mean, yeah, Mick,” Ian said softly. “I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you. I just want to be with you.”

Mickey started to laugh, and Ian was instantly relieved he wasn’t in deep shit again. “Relax, man. I needed to say that, especially after I remembered what a little shit you were bein’ that day...”

Ian groaned. “Mick, I know. I deserve that. But I’m not going to lie. That was one of the best orgasms of my life.” He bit into his lip, trying to hold back an enormous grin. “God, you were so hot, down on your knees, and you -”

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. You’re not so bad yourself. Haven’t forgotten that dressing room BJ at Target. Damn, Gallagher. But you know there will be plenty more of ‘em, like you promised. Maybe not today though. You know? Kinda dealin with some shit.”

“Sure, Mick. I understand. We can take things slow. But you are...back?”

Mickey nodded. “I am.”

“Good. So, do you want to hang out tonight? Talk more about some of the things that came back to you? Anything. Or we can watch a movie.” Ian took a chance and placed a hand on top of Mickey’s shoulder, just for a few seconds. “I’m just happy to see you. I missed you.”

“Still a sap, huh? A movie sounds good. And, uh, you cool with me stayin’ over?” 

“Of course,” Ian nodded, “Was about you ask if you wanted to.”

“You gonna be workin’ tonight?”

“No, I go back tomorrow. I’ve been out all this week, because of...stuff.”

“Cuz of us?” Mickey asked.

“Because of us, and stuff with my meds. Needed my dosage adjusted,” Ian explained.

“You doin’ better?”

“I am, Mick. Much better.”

* * *

They ended up downstairs on the sofa, Ian nursing a beer while Mickey polished off three. It was nice having his boyfriend within arm’s reach again. Once Mickey finished his last beer, he’d shifted to rest his head near Ian’s shoulder, their arms touching. Ian didn’t push for anything further, contact wise. He was more focused on listening to what Mickey had to say, now that the alcohol was loosening the older man’s tongue.

“So, I really came out, huh? Got a nice fresh blast when everything from Uncle Ronnie’s video finally clicked in my head. I really gave Dad a fat piece of my mind. No fuckin’ way. Couldn’t believe I announced to the entire damn Alibi and my whole family that I take it up the ass from you. After I...didn’t even want to show you I gave two fucks, I did it. Biggest mistake I made was to let you leave. Fuckin’ hated myself.”

“Yeah…” Ian didn’t want to rehash the worst experience of their lives. “I was so proud of you. It’s just - I pushed you too hard to come out, and I put you in danger. I’m sorry.’”

“No, you didn’t. Push me too far, I mean. We couldn’t keep on going like that,” Mickey said. “It wasn’t fair to you. I was sick of acting more like we were runnin’ drugs than fuckin’ each other. It just ain’t right, so I fixed it.”

The expression on his face wasn’t too readable, but Ian swore he caught a hint of emotion. The redhead cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So what exactly did Lip say when you texted him about me?”

“Just that you were off. Manic or whatever.” Mickey moved his arm to scratch at his chin but let it drop next to Ian’s again.

“It happens, you know,” Ian said, a warmth spreading through his body from the sensation of Mickey’s skin against his. “My meds getting out of whack.”

“You're doin’ better than before - that’s for damn sure. You were sick back then, I know, but you fucked up a bunch.”

“Yeah, I did. I was really fucking manic,” Ian said, his voice full of regret, though there were portions of that time in their relationship that Ian couldn’t even remember.

”Can we talk about the fact that I have a damn kid? How fucked up is that?”

Ian sighed. This would be a lot for most people to take in, but Mickey seemed to be handling it. “Yeah, Mick. I know.”

“And you took him on a road trip. Without asking. Svetlana wanted to rip me a new one.”

Ian nodded. That was definitely a period of time that was still hazy to him, except he remembered how worried Mickey had been after the porno. “I was out of my mind. I had no business taking a baby to Florida.”

“You know how I felt when I couldn’t get a hold of you, blowin’ up your phone and you didn’t pick up? I realized then _ how _ much it scared me knowing you coulda wrapped your car around a tree or hitchhiked to Mexico.”

_ Here we go again with Mexico. _“What else has come back to you?” Ian asked worriedly.

“Well, us living together...and Yev. I’m guessing he’s with _ her _ now?”

“Yeah…” Ian didn’t want to elaborate about Yev’s whereabouts unless Mickey asked him for more information.

“Guess it’s better that way, huh? Those were some crazy times. One day laughing over billions of suitcases and then being scared outta my fuckin’ mind with you in the psych ward and needing time alone to process it. That’s how I deal with stuff - you know. I get shitfaced drunk. It eventually took Peppermint Patty to talk me into comin’ back to check on you.”

In all the haze and numbness he’d felt while being in the psych ward and then leaving fully medicated, nothing stood out to Ian more clearly than being crushed when Mickey didn’t come pick him up. But then he felt whole again when he’d come to his room that night and laid down next to him. “Debbie talked you into coming to see me?”

“Yeah, man. Went into how Frank would get the same way when it came to Monica, and how I couldn’t drink you away even if I wanted to.” Mickey laughed and shook his head. “She knew how to press my damn buttons. But she was wrong about _ us _ being like _ them_. We’re not.”

“No, I guess we’re not.” Ian had been comparing himself to Monica for a long time, knew his siblings had thought that they were exactly alike. But Mickey didn’t thrive off of chaos like Frank did. He didn’t encourage it. Instead, Mickey had brought stability into Ian’s life. 

“You’d flushed your meds down the toilet. I had to deal with knowin’ your ass would be on meds for decades, and then you wouldn’t take them. But hey, batshit crazy is my type. I told that to some chick who hit on me once at the Alibi and wouldn’t back the fuck off.”

Ian laughed. “That’s a random ass thing to remember. What did you say to her?”

“Said my type is redhead, batshit crazy and packin’ nine inches.”

“Glad you enjoy talking about my dick with total strangers. I feel kind of violated.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher. You know I love your dick.”

“Ha!” Ian adjusted on the sofa, trying to pick his next words carefully. “Back then, when I got out of the hospital and came down from my mania, I checked my phone and I found a bunch of panicky voicemails from you,” he said. “In one of the messages...you said you loved me.”

Mickey leaned his head back, eyebrows raised. “That so?”

“Well...yeah,“ Ian said, immediately starting to regret it. “I’m sorry, Mick. You still have a lot on your plate without me bringing that up. Forget it.”

There was a long pause, one that felt like forever to Ian, before Mickey turned so that he was facing Ian when he responded. “I did say that. And I meant it.”

Ian cocked his head to the side. “You meant what?”

“You know. What you said.”

Ian knew this was his opening. He knew Mickey had stumbled upon pieces of himself - the ones that helped him understand Ian was telling the truth all along about what they meant to each other. 

“Me too. What you said.”

“Soft bitch. We say corny shit a lot when we were locked up in Beckman?” Mickey asked.

“Every single night, right after lights out. And you’d say how much you were looking forward to life on the outside. How we’d get an apartment, and how much it would mean for you, being a free man for the first time in years after -”

_ After what happened with Sammi and you getting fifteen years and asking me to wait for you, then you escaped and asked me to come with you to Mexico, but I couldn’t. _

“A free man after what?”

“...after we got out of Beckman,” Ian finished.

“Why was I in there for years? Wait...you told me I did something to do with drugs, so I’ll go with that. But why were _ you _ there? Please don’t tell me you fucked your life up for me,” Mickey said. “I mean, I’m not surprised I ended up back in the joint, but Ian ‘Army’ Gallagher? Were you really in the can for a property crime?”

“It really was a property crime,” Ian said. “I never lied about that. But that’s not what I’m really worried about. I did other things that you’ll be really pissed at me for.”

Mickey snorted. “If you did do somethin’ stupid to be with me, I _ am _ gonna be really pissed at you. But hold on a sec, there’s something I brought for you…”

Ian’s eyes grew wide when he saw the folded paper Mickey pulled out of his pocket. It was the sketch of shirtless stripper Ian his boyfriend had put on their cell wall. Ian smiled, but inwardly cringed as he recalled how much thinner he was back then, and not in a good way.

“You remember drawing this?” Ian asked.

“No. But it was in the box I found when I was cleaning up the stuff you threw around in my room. You know, when you were tryin’ to get rid of my illegal shit before Mister Rogers stopped by to search my room. He hasn’t touched anything, so you wasted your time and mine.”

“I didn’t know at the time Larry Seaver would be your PO,” Ian retorted. “You got lucky. Should be relieved.” Ian nudged his shoulder and took the paper from his hands. “You stopped back home to get this?”

“Yeah. I’m not as worried about Dad. I remember how we lived there after I came out and he had nothin’ done to us,” Mickey said. “And I talked to Jamie, Colin and Sandy, who told me they have him under control. ‘Course, there’s still a chance he gets out one day and tries to-”

“He can’t hurt us, Mick,” Ian reassured him. And he meant it. _ Fuck Terry. _

“He can sure try, but yeah, can’t let him control me no more.”

“I’m really glad you’re seeing things that way.” 

“Yep, we’re in this shit together. And about that - said you wanted to watch a movie?” Mickey reminded him. “But here’s another idea: let’s go someplace for dinner. We never got to do that back in the day cuz of all the bullshit the world threw at us.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Ian smiled, wondering if he would trigger more memories for Mickey, but he couldn’t resist. “Sizzler?”

“Fuck yeah!”

As he saw Mickey’s face light up, Ian thought to himself: _ All of this is finally worth it._

* * *

“This _is_ good,” Ian said after he took a bite of his steak. Mickey seemed relaxed, and thankfully, the restaurant wasn’t too crowded or noisy. Ian decided to share something with him from their past. “You know, it was you who suggested this place years ago, after I said we should go on a date. You couldn’t believe it when I said we should go to a nice restaurant, put on a nice shirt and eat with utensils.”

“No kiddin’,” Mickey said. He glanced down at his plate. “This is the first time I’ve had a _ good _ steak. My brothers lifted from the butcher’s shop a few times and we cooked it, but we ain’t Gordon Ramsay.” 

“Heh,” Ian said. “You never told me that.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Mickey laughed. “Knew before we got here I was gonna order a steak so rare, it would scream when I bit it. Maybe it’s not _ quite _ rare enough. I don’t hear anything.” Ian laughed as Mickey put a hand to his ear.

“I missed this, Mick,” Ian said. “And I’m really glad your memory is coming back.”

“Yeah? I remember when I woke up in the bed at the hospital; how I thought I was still 17. But I still don’t remember the accident itself.” Mickey paused to eat another bite of his steak. “Guess I oughta start my apology tour now.”

“Huh?” _ Wait, what did Mickey have to apologize for? _

“Wanna say I’m sorry for that stuff I said to you recently...said shit and hurt you without meanin’ to do it, and kicked you outta my room after we fucked for the first time since I left the hospital. Sorry I said I was gonna go fuck Angie. Even more sorry that I actually would’ve done it if she hadn’t moved away a few years back.”

“Worked out better for all of us that she was gone.” Ian shrugged. “I think it hurt more the first time when you told me about Angie. Like, you wanted me to know you didn’t belong to me.”

“Yeah, well. Had to keep up appearances. Half the time I’d go over with the intention of fuckin’ her, but then we would just end up smokin’ weed and drinking her booze.”

“Why only half the time?” Ian grinned in spite of himself. None of that mattered now that he had Mickey to himself for good.

“Fuck you.” Mickey kicked Ian’s feet under the table. “Don’t make me say it. And stop fuckin’ smirking at me like that, bitch.”

Ian burst out laughing. It felt good to actually laugh at the fucked-up shit in their past, because it was better than crying or being numb to it, trying and failing to make it go away. They had been hurting - and hurting each other - for way too many years.

Mickey flipped him off and kept scowling. But sure enough, the sides of his mouth slowly started to turn upwards until he was laughing, too.

Once Ian caught his breath, he knew he had to headline his own “apology tour,” as Mickey called it. Mickey seemed to have pieced together most of his memories involving Ian up until immediately after the psych ward.

“Now that you covered things you didn’t need to be sorry for...I’m really sorry about everything I did to you when I was manic. There was no excuse. I hurt you,” Ian said. “I said it a million times after I was medicated, and while we were in jail together. You probably don’t remember, but even if you did I’d still say it again. I’m sorry.”

“Christ, Gallagher. You sure are good at pullin’ out sappy-ass shit,” Mickey said, shaking his head slowly. “This all went down...how long was it now? Five years ago?”

“It was like four and a half.”

“Yeah, well, my sense of time is a little fucked up right now, Marty McFly.”

“But it doesn’t matter how long ago it all was. I’ll never be able to express how glad I am you were willing to forgive me. You stuck around way after most people would’ve given up.”

Mickey frowned. “Of course I forgive you, Ian. I forgave you as soon as you went into the psych ward. But this is gettin’ to be a little much. You buttering me up or somethin’ before you drop more bad news?”

“Maybe,” Ian said noncommittally. “All of this has me thinking. I don’t know if this comparison is right...that day you came home with your bag full of shoplifted goods, remember what you said to me?”

“Not sure. What was it?”

“Well, if you remember me running off with Yev, do you remember what happened right before?” Ian held his breath, waiting for Mickey to respond.

Mickey nodded slowly, still maintaining eye contact with Ian. “The porno. You didn’t get why I was upset. Told me, ‘Relax, psycho’.”

“Yeah. That. I fucked up, but it was somewhat out of my control. Like when you thought you were still 17 and stole that shit. You had suffered a traumatic brain injury. This last month made me realize how hard it was for you to take care of me. I took you for granted.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for takin’ care of me when I was acting like a dumbass kid. I coulda gotten into some real trouble for lifting that shit.”

Ian smiled. “At least you didn’t get caught. And I have an idea for that shit, what with it being close to Christmas. And us being so close to broke.”

“Christmas, huh? Gettin’ in the holiday spirit, Gallagher? Wanna go caroling together? Cuz you know my answer to that shit.”

Ian remembered the closest they’d ever come to caroling was walking back from the dugouts, all bloodied and high off of fucking, belting out some 80’s tunes. And then everything had gone to shit, thanks to Sammi. “No caroling, but let’s go back to the house and make some hot chocolate.” 

“Hot chocolate? That mean something else?” Mickey asked, eyebrows raised.

“It means ‘hot chocolate’,” Ian said with a slight smile, knowing they still had shit to talk about, though he wouldn’t be opposed to _ something else _ if Mickey was in the mood.

* * *

The trip home on the L passed quickly for Ian, to the extent he wished it was a longer one since Mickey was still in a talking mood. They probably were coming home to a full house.

“At least now I understand what you were saying at the dugouts about bein’ sick,” Mickey said.

“I had no idea what the fuck bipolar was before you got diagnosed - no wonder I didn’t get it when you told me last month. But it’s weird knowin’ the last I remember was things being shitty with us and your illness. You’re all stable now, but I don’t know how you ended up in Beckman with me.”

“Yeah, we gotta help you fill in the rest of those blanks. Just maybe not right this second.”

“Okay, okay.” Mickey put his hands up in mock surrender. “This is just a lot of new shit for me to process. You know what it’s like? It’s like if we watched the beginning when Mufasa died, then skipped to the very end of the movie instead of watchin’ the rest.”

Ian chuckled softly. “Did you just compare our lives to _ The Lion King_?”

“Sorta. I mean, I’m still confused, but at least now I know my memories are still gonna keep comin’ back. And you know what I think is even more important than that?”

“What’s that, Mick?”

“That you’re healthy again.”

_ Wow, this was a different Mickey than the one who’d been totally confused when I mentioned having a mental illness. _ This was more like the Mickey that Ian would have appreciated back when he was first diagnosed.

When they got back to the Gallagher house, Ian saw he’d been right: everyone was home, sitting around the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching a Christmas cartoon. Surprisingly, there was an unexpected extra body there in the form of one Sandy Milkovich.

“Hey, guys! Hey...Sandy. What are you doing here?” Ian asked. “Didn’t expect to see you here at all.”

“Yeah, well...I got somethin’ to tell you guys.” Sandy popped up from where she was seated next to Debbie. “Be right back,” she told the rest of the group and quirked her head towards the kitchen. Once they were out of ear shot, she shared her big secret. “Ian, your sister and I just fucked around.”

“Ugh. Fuckin’ gross!” Mickey grimaced in disgust. “Things I didn’t need to know.”

Ian shook his head and called his sister into the kitchen. 

“What?” she asked with a sly grin. 

“I gotta hand it to you, Debs. I was wrong when I thought you were going through a phase. Guess I forgot bi people were a thing. I’m sorry I said that to you.”

“Well, you should be sorry,” Debbie said. “But it’s no biggie. I get that you guys were pretty wrapped up in stuff with Mickey to take notice of who I was and wasn’t seeing.”

“I’m happy for you, Debs,” Ian said. “Are you spending the night here, Sandy?”

“Nah,” Sandy said. “Gonna take off.” She turned to Mickey. “You okay? Mandy said you guys were dealin’ with some stuff. Don’t worry; she didn’t say anything specific.”

“Gettin’ there,” Mickey replied.

“Guess you’re gonna wanna stay here then?” Sandy asked. “Go ahead and do it without me gettin’ in your way.”

Lip called out from the next room, having overheard the last part of their conversation. “Yo, Mick: if you’re spending the night over here, don’t worry about the baby waking you up or anything. Tami’s at her parents’ house and won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Everything okay?” Ian asked. Lip joined them in the kitchen.

“Yeah...we needed some time apart tonight. She found out some important stuff and she isn’t quite sure how to feel about it yet.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Let me know if you need to talk or anything.”

“Thanks, Ian, but I’m good for now. I’m just going to go upstairs and get some sleep.”

Lip went upstairs and Sandy left. Ian poured some hot chocolate for him and Mickey. Since they were still sharing custody of the TV with Debbie, Carl, Liam, and a sleepy Franny, they were stuck with company for their movie night, but Ian didn’t really mind. This felt nice, being all together and having Mickey there, like he was part of the family. They chose the_ Matrix _ trilogy, which was recently added to Netflix. Surprisingly, Ian had seen none of them before, which Mickey and his siblings all gave him shit for.

By the time they started the third movie, everyone else wandered upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Ian finally had the alone time with Mickey he was hoping for. Unfortunately, the brunet fell asleep before the movie was even halfway over, his soft snoring barely audible over the lowered sound of the TV.

The redhead got up and switched the TV off. Ian didn’t want to disturb Mickey, so he left the man sleeping on the couch. Not wanting to be too far away from the love of his life after days of worrying himself sick, he went upstairs to grab a pillow and blanket before curling up on the floor next to the couch. He quickly fell asleep, his dreams now occupied by happy thoughts of Mickey.


End file.
